Madame Merle gave a bright, voluntary smile. "Do you know you're a
little dry?"
"Yes; I can't help it. Mr. Rosier has also talked to me."
"In that there's some reason. You're so near the child."
"Ah," said Isabel, "for all the comfort I've given him! If you think
me dry, I wonder what he thinks."
"I believe he thinks you can do more than you have done."
"I can do nothing."
"You can do more at least than I. I don't know what mysterious
connection he may have discovered between me and Pansy; but he came to
me from the first, as if I held his fortune in my hand. Now he keeps
coming back, to spur me up, to know what hope there is, to pour out
his feelings."
"He's very much in love," said Isabel.
"Very much-for him."
"Very much for Pansy, you might say as well."
Madame Merle dropped her eyes a moment. "Don't you think she's
attractive?"
"The dearest little person possible-but very limited."
"She ought to be all the easier for Mr. Rosier to love. Mr. Rosier's
not unlimited."
"No," said Isabel, "he has about the extent of one's
pocket-handkerchief-the small ones with lace borders." Her humour
had lately turned a good deal to sarcasm, but in a moment she was
ashamed of exercising it on so innocent an object as Pansy's suitor.
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