VOLUME I
22. CHAPTER XXII
(continued)
"She's going to give me some gloves," said Pansy.
"You needn't tell that to every one, my dear," Madame Merle
observed.
"You're very kind to her," said Osmond. "She's supposed to have
everything she needs."
"I should think she had had enough of the nuns."
"If we're going to discuss that matter she had better go out of
the room."
"Let her stay," said Madame Merle. "We'll talk of something
else."
"If you like I won't listen," Pansy suggested with an appearance
of candour which imposed conviction.
"You may listen, charming child, because you won't understand,"
her father replied. The child sat down, deferentially, near the
open door, within sight of the garden, into which she directed
her innocent, wistful eyes; and Mr. Osmond went on irrelevantly,
addressing himself to his other companion. "You're looking
particularly well."
"I think I always look the same," said Madame Merle.
"You always ARE the same. You don't vary. You're a wonderful
woman."
"Yes, I think I am."
"You sometimes change your mind, however. You told me on your
return from England that you wouldn't leave Rome again for the
present."
"I'm pleased that you remember so well what I say. That was my
intention. But I've come to Florence to meet some friends who
have lately arrived and as to whose movements I was at that time
uncertain."
"That reason's characteristic. You're always doing something for
your friends."
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