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."
"Yes, but in the one case he'll try to talk and explain-which
would be exceedingly tiresome. In the other he'll probably hold his
tongue and go in for some deeper game. That will leave me quiet. I
hate talking with a donkey."
"Is that what you call poor Mr. Rosier?"
"Oh, he's a nuisance-with his eternal majolica."
Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she had a faint smile. "He's a
gentleman, he has a charming temper; and, after all, an income of
forty thousand francs!"
"It's misery-'genteel' misery," Osmond broke in. "It's not what I've
dreamed of for Pansy."
"Very good then. He has promised me not to speak to her."
"Do you believe him?" Osmond asked absent-mindedly.
"Perfectly. Pansy has thought a great deal about him; but I don't
suppose you consider that that matters.
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