“No, not always. I lived a long time at Naples, and many years in Rome. But I’ve been here a good while. Perhaps I shall have to change, however; to do something else. I’ve no longer myself to think of. My daughter’s growing up and may very possibly not care so much for the Correggios and crucifixes as I. I shall have to do what’s best for Pansy.”
“Yes, do that,” said Isabel. “She’s such a dear little girl.”
“Ah,” cried Gilbert Osmond beautifully, “she’s a little saint of heaven! She is my great happiness!”
CHAPTER XXV
While this sufficiently intimate colloquy (prolonged for some time after we cease to follow it) went forward Madame Merle and her companion, breaking a silence of some duration, had begun to exchange remarks. They were sitting in an attitude of unexpressed expectancy; an attitude especially marked on the part of the Countess Gemini, who, being of a more nervous temperament than her friend, practised with less success the art of disguising impatience. What these ladies were waiting for would not have been apparent and was perhaps not very definite to their own minds. Madame Merle waited for Osmond to release their young friend from her tête-à-tête, and the Countess waited because Madame Merle did. The Countess, moreover, by waiting, found the time ripe for one of her pretty perversities. She might have desired for some minutes to place it. Her brother wandered with Isabel to the end of the garden, to which point her eyes followed them.
“My dear,” she then observed to her companion, “you’ll excuse me if I don’t congratulate you!”
“Very willingly, for I don’t in the least know why you should.”
“Haven’t you a little plan that you think rather well of?” And the Countess nodded at the sequestered couple.
Madame Merle’s eyes took the same direction; then she looked serenely at her neighbour. “You know I never understand you very well,” she smiled.