“Perhaps you won’t come back?”
“Perhaps not. I can’t tell.”
“Ah, Mrs. Osmond, you won’t leave me!”
Isabel now saw she had guessed everything. “My dear child, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“I don’t know—but I’m happier when I think of you.”
“You can always think of me.”
“Not when you’re so far. I’m a little afraid,” said Pansy.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Of papa—a little. And of Madame Merle. She has just been to see me.”
“You must not say that,” Isabel observed.