"She's very nice, in spite of her deplorable origin.
I myself have liked Pansy; not, naturally, because she was hers, but
because she had become yours."
"Yes, she has become mine. And how the poor woman must have suffered
at seeing me-!" Isabel exclaimed while she flushed at the thought.
"I don't believe she has suffered; on the contrary, she has enjoyed.
Osmond's marriage has given his daughter a great little lift. Before
that she lived in a hole. And do you know what the mother thought?
That you might take such a fancy to the child that you'd do
something for her. Osmond of course could never give her a portion.
Osmond was really extremely poor; but of course you know all about
that. Ah, my dear," cried the Countess, "why did you ever inherit
money?" She stopped a moment as if she saw something singular in
Isabel's face. "Don't tell me now that you'll give her a dot. You're
capable of that, but I would refuse to believe it. Don't try to be too
good. Be a little easy and natural and nasty; feel a little wicked,
for the comfort of it, once in your life!"
"It's very strange. I suppose I ought to know, but I'm sorry,"
Isabel said.
Pages:
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962