“The girl herself? Delighted, surely.”
“No, no; I mean Mrs. Osmond.”
Ralph looked at him a moment. “My dear fellow, what has she to do with it?”
“Whatever she chooses. She’s very fond of Pansy.”
“Very true—very true.” And Ralph slowly got up. “It’s an interesting question—how far her fondness for Pansy will carry her.” He stood there a moment with his hands in his pockets and rather a clouded brow. “I hope, you know, that you’re very—very sure. The deuce!” he broke off. “I don’t know how to say it.”
“Yes, you do; you know how to say everything.”
“Well, it’s awkward. I hope you’re sure that among Miss Osmond’s merits her being—a—so near her stepmother isn’t a leading one?”
“Good heavens, Touchett!” cried Lord Warburton angrily, “for what do you take me?”