That she would always be a child was the conviction expressed by her father, who held her by the hand when she was in her sixteenth year and told her to go and play while he sat down a little with the pretty lady.Pansy wore a short dress and a long coat; her hat always seemed too big for her.She found pleasure in walking off, with quick, short steps, to the end of the alley, and then in walking back with a smile that seemed an appeal for approbation.Isabel approved in abundance, and the abundance had the personal touch that the child's affectionate nature craved.She watched her indications as if for herself also much depended on them-Pansy already so represented part of the service she could render, part of the responsibility she could face.Her father took so the childish view of her that he had not yet explained to her the new relation in which he stood to the elegant Miss Archer."She doesn't know," he said to Isabel; "she doesn't guess; she thinks it perfectly natural that you and I should come and walk here together simply as good friends.There seems to me something enchantingly innocent in that; it's the way I like her to be.No, I'm not a failure, as I used to think; I've succeeded in two things.I'm to marry the woman I adore, and I've brought up my child, as I wished, in the old way."He was very fond, in all things, of the "old way"; that had struck Isabel as one of his fine, quiet, sincere notes."It occurs to me that you'll not know whether you've succeeded until you've told her," she said."You must see how she takes your news.She may be horrified-she may be jealous.""I'm not afraid of that; she's too fond of you on her own account.Ishould like to leave her in the dark a little longer-to see if it will come into her head that if we're not engaged we ought to be."Isabel was impressed by Osmond's artistic, the plastic view, as it somehow appeared, of Pansy's innocence-her own appreciation of it being more anxiously moral.She was perhaps not the less pleased when he told her a few days later that he had communicated the fact to his daughter, who had made such a pretty little speech-"Oh, then Ishall have a beautiful sister!"
She was neither surprised nor alarmed; she had not cried, as he expected.
"Perhaps she had guessed it," said Isabel.
"Don't say that; I should be disgusted if I believed that.I thought it would be just a little shock; but the way she took it proves that her good manners are paramount.That's also what I wished.You shall see for yourself; to-morrow she shall make you her congratulations in person."The meeting, on the morrow, took place at the Countess Gemini's, whither Pansy had been conducted by her father, who knew that Isabel was to come in the afternoon to return a visit made her by the Countess on learning that they were to become sisters-in-law.
Calling at Casa Touchett the visitor had not found Isabel at home; but after our young woman had been ushered into the Countess's drawing-room Pansy arrived to say that her aunt would presently appear.Pansy was spending the day with that lady, who thought her of an age to begin to learn how to carry herself in company.It was Isabel's view that the little girl might have given lessons in deportment to her relative, and nothing could have justified this conviction more than the manner in which Pansy acquitted herself while they waited together for the Countess.Her father's decision, the year before, had finally been to send her back to the convent to receive the last graces, and Madame Catherine had evidently carried out her theory that Pansy was to be fitted for the great world.
"Papa has told me that you've kindly consented to marry him," said this excellent woman's pupil."It's very delightful; I think you'll suit very well.""You think I shall suit you?"
"You'll suit me beautifully; but what I mean is that you and papa will suit each other.You're both so quiet and so serious.You're not so quiet as he-or even as Madame Merle; but you're more quiet than many others.He should not for instance have a wife like my aunt.
