"And she plays
beautifully."
"She does everything beautifully. She's complete."
Isabel looked at her cousin a moment. "You don't like her."
"On the contrary, I was once in love with her."
"And she didn't care for you, and that's why you don't like her."
"How can we have discussed such things? Monsieur Merle was then
living."
"Is he dead now?"
"So she says."
"Don't you believe her?"
"Yes, because the statement agrees with the probabilities. The
husband of Madame Merle would be likely to pass away."
Isabel gazed at her cousin again. "I don't know what you mean. You
mean something- that you don't mean. What was Monsieur Merle?"
"The husband of Madame."
"You're very odious. Has she any children?"
"Not the least little child- fortunately."
"Fortunately?"
"I mean fortunately for the child. She'd be sure to spoil it."
Isabel was apparently on the point of assuring her cousin for the
third time that he was odious; but the discussion was interrupted by
the arrival of the lady who was the topic of it. She came rustling
in quickly, apologizing for being late, fastening a bracelet,
dressed in dark blue satin, which exposed a white bosom that was
ineffectually covered by a curious silver necklace.
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