HE went to see Madame Merle on the morrow, and to his surprise she let him off rather easily. But she made him promise that he would stop there until something should have been decided. Mr. Osmond had had higher expectations; it was very true that as he had no intention of giving his daughter a portion, such expectations were open to criticism, or even, if one would, to ridicule. But she would advise Mr. Rosier not to take that tone; if he would possess his soul in patience he might arrive at his felicity. Mr. Osmond was not favourable to his suit, but it would not be a miracle if he should gradually come round. Pansy would never defy her father, he might depend upon that, so nothing was to be gained by precipitation. Mr. Osmond needed to accustom his mind to an offer of a sort that he had not hitherto entertained, and this result must come of itself—it was useless to try to force it. Rosier remarked that his own situation would be in the meanwhile the most uncomfortable in the world, and Madame Merle assured him that she felt for him. But, as she justly declared, one couldn't have everything one wanted; she had learned that lesson for herself. There would be no use in his writing to Gilbert Osmond, who had charged her to tell him as much. He wished the matter dropped for a few weeks, and would himself write when he should have anything to communicate which it would please Mr. Rosier to hear.

“He doesn't like your having spoken to Pansy. Ah, he doesn't like it at all,” said Madame Merle.

“I am perfectly willing to give him a chance to tell me so!”

“If you do that he will tell you more than you care to hear. Go to the house, for the next month, as little as possible, and leave the rest to me.”

“As little as possible? Who is to measure that?”

“Let me measure it. Go on Thursday evenings with the rest of the world; but don't go at all at odd times, and don't fret about Pansy. I will see that she understands everything. She's a calm little nature; she will take it quietly.”