“I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you that he likes my stepdaughter very much.”
Madame Merle gave one of her quick looks again. “Likes her, you mean—as Mr. Rosier means?”
“I don’t know how Mr. Rosier means; but Lord Warburton has let me know that he’s charmed with Pansy.”
“And you’ve never told Osmond?” This observation was immediate, precipitate; it almost burst from Madame Merle’s lips.
Isabel’s eyes rested on her. “I suppose he’ll know in time; Lord Warburton has a tongue and knows how to express himself.”
Madame Merle instantly became conscious that she had spoken more quickly than usual, and the reflection brought the colour to her cheek. She gave the treacherous impulse time to subside and then said as if she had been thinking it over a little: “That would be better than marrying poor Mr. Rosier.”
“Much better, I think.”
“It would be very delightful; it would be a great marriage. It’s really very kind of him.”
“Very kind of him?”
“To drop his eyes on a simple little girl.”