with
bitterness. It was not the insolence of Madame Merle's informing her
that Osmond had been taking her into his confidence as against his wife
that struck her most; for she was not quick to believe that this was
meant for insolence. Madame Merle was very rarely insolent, and only
when it was exactly right. It was not right now, or at least it was not
right yet. What touched Isabel like a drop of corrosive acid upon an
open wound was the knowledge that Osmond dishonoured her in his words as
well as in his thoughts. "Should you like to know how I judge HIM?" she
asked at last.

"No, because you'd never tell me. And it would be painful for me to
know."

There was a pause, and for the first time since she had known her Isabel
thought Madame Merle disagreeable. She wished she would leave her.
"Remember how attractive Pansy is, and don't despair," she said
abruptly, with a desire that this should close their interview.

But Madame Merle's expansive presence underwent no contraction. She only
gathered her mantle about her and, with the movement, scattered upon the
air a faint, agreeable fragrance. "I don't despair; I feel encouraged.
And I didn't come to scold you; I came if possible to learn the truth. I
know you'll tell it if I ask you. It's an immense blessing with you that
one can count upon that. No, you won't believe what a comfort I take in
it."

"What truth do you speak of?" Isabel asked, wondering.

"Just this: whether Lord Warburton changed his mind quite of his own
movement or because you recommended it. To please himself I mean, or to
please you. Think of the confidence I must still have in you, in spite
of having lost a little of it," Madame Merle continued with a smile, "to
ask such a question as that!" She sat looking at her friend, to judge
the effect of her words, and then went on: "Now don't be heroic, don't
be unreasonable, don't take offence. It seems to me I do you an honour
in speaking so. I don't know another woman to whom I would do it. I
haven't the least idea that any other woman would tell me the truth. And
don't you see how well it is that your husband should know it? It's
true that he doesn't appear to have had any tact whatever in trying to
extract it; he has indulged in gratuitous suppositions. But that doesn't
alter the fact that it would make a difference in his view of his
daughter's prospects to know distinctly what really occurred. If Lord
Warburton simply got tired of the poor chil