else."

"I'll never do that."

"What then are we to wait for?"

She hesitated again. "I'll speak to Mrs. Osmond and she'll help us." It
was in this manner that she for the most part designated her stepmother.

"She won't help us much. She's afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of your father, I suppose."

Pansy shook her little head. "She's not afraid of any one. We must have
patience."

"Ah, that's an awful word," Rosier groaned; he was deeply disconcerted.
Oblivious of the customs of good society, he dropped his head into his
hands and, supporting it with a melancholy grace, sat staring at the
carpet. Presently he became aware of a good deal of movement about
him and, as he looked up, saw Pansy making a curtsey--it was still her
little curtsey of the convent--to the English lord whom Mrs. Osmond had
introduced.

CHAPTER XXXIX

It will probably not surprise the reflective reader that Ralph Touchett
should have seen less of his cousin since her marriage than he had done
before that event--an event of which he took such a view as could hardly
prove a confirmation of intimacy. He had uttered his thought, as we
know, and after this had held his peace, Isabel not having invited him
to resume a discussion which marked an era in their relations. That
discussion had made a difference--the difference he feared rather than
the one he hoped. It had not chilled the girl's zeal in carrying out her
engagement, but it had come dangerously near to spoiling a friendship.
No reference was ever again made between them to Ralph's opinion of
Gilbert Osmond, and by surrounding this topic with a sacred silence they
managed to preserve a semblance of reciprocal frankness. But there was a
difference, as Ralph often said to himself--there was a difference. She
had not forgiven him, she never would forgive him: that was all he had
gained. She thought she had forgiven him; she believed she didn't care;
and as she was both very generous and very proud these convictions
represented a certain reality. But whether or no the event should
justify him he would virtually have done her a wrong, and the wrong was
of the sort that women remember best. As Osmond's wife she could never
again be his friend. If in this character she should enjoy the felicity
she expected, she would have nothing but contempt for the man who had
attempted, in advance, to undermine a blessing so dear; and if on the
other hand his warning should be justified the vow she