ys paid, in public, a certain formal tribute to the
commonplace--and then Madame Merle, whose eyes had been wandering, asked
if little Mr. Rosier had come this evening.

"He came nearly an hour ago--but he has disappeared," Osmond said.

"And where's Pansy?"

"In the other room. There are several people there."

"He's probably among them," said Madame Merle.

"Do you wish to see him?" Osmond asked in a provokingly pointless tone.

Madame Merle looked at him a moment; she knew each of his tones to the
eighth of a note. "Yes, I should like to say to him that I've told you
what he wants, and that it interests you but feebly."

"Don't tell him that. He'll try to interest me more--which is exactly
what I don't want. Tell him I hate his proposal."

"But you don't hate it."

"It doesn't signify; I don't love it. I let him see that, myself, this
evening; I was rude to him on purpose. That sort of thing's a great
bore. There's no hurry."

"I'll tell him that you'll take time and think it over."

"No, don't do that. He'll hang on."

"If I discourage him he'll do the same."

"Yes, but in the one case he'll try to talk and explain--which would be
exceedingly tiresome. In the other he'll probably hold his tongue and go
in for some deeper game. That will leave me quiet. I hate talking with a
donkey."

"Is that what you call poor Mr. Rosier?"

"Oh, he's a nuisance--with his eternal majolica."

Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she had a faint smile. "He's a gentleman,
he has a charming temper; and, after all, an income of forty thousand
francs!"

"It's misery--'genteel' misery," Osmond broke in. "It's not what I've
dreamed of for Pansy."

"Very good then. He has promised me not to speak to her."

"Do you believe him?" Osmond asked absentmindedly.

"Perfectly. Pansy has thought a great deal about him; but I don't
suppose you consider that that matters."

"I don't consider it matters at all; but neither do I believe she has
thought of him."

"That opinion's more convenient," said Madame Merle quietly.

"Has she told you she's in love with him?"

"For what do you take her? And for what do you take me?" Madame Merle
added in a moment.

Osmond had raised his foot and was resting his slim ankle on the other
knee; he clasped his ankle in his hand familiarly--his long, fine
forefinger and thumb could make a ring for it--and gazed a while
before him. "This kind of thing doesn't find me unprepared. It's what I
educ