“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.”