466 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. Isabel listened to her, holding her breath ; she was almost awe-struck. " Think of me, sometimes," she said. " Ah, come and see me soon ! " cried Pansy ; and the cry was very different from the heroic remarks of which she had just delivered herself. Isabel could say nothing more ; she understood nothing ; she only felt that she did not know her husband yet. Her answer to Pansy was a long tender kiss. Half-an-hour later she learned from her maid that Madame Catherine had arrived in a cab, and had departed again with the Signorina. On going to the drawing-room before dinner she found the Countess Gemini alone, and this lady characterised the incident by exclaiming, with a wonderful toss of the head " En voila, ma chere, une pose!" But if it was an affectation, she was at a loss to see what her husband affected. She could only dimly perceive that he had more traditions than she sup- posed. It had become her habit to be so careful as to what she said to him that, strange as it may appear, she hesitated, for several minutes after he had come in, to allude to his daughter's sudden departure ; she spoke of it only after they were seated at table. But she had forbidden herself ever to ask Osmond a question. All she could do was to make a declaration, and there was one that came very naturally. " I shall miss Pansy very much." Osmond looked a while, with his head inclined a little, at the basket of flowers in the middle of the table. " Ah, yes," he said at last, " I had thought of that. You must go and see her, you know ; but not too often. I dare say you wonder why I sent her to the good sisters ; but I doubt whether 1 can make you understand. It doesn't matter ; don't trouble yourself about it. That's why I had not spoken of it. I didn't believe you would enter into it. But I have always had the idea ; I have always thought it a part of the education of a young girl. A young girl should be fresh and fair ; she should be innocent and gentle. With the manners of the pre- sent time she is liable to become so dusty and crumpled ! Pansy is a little dusty, a little dishevelled ; she has knocked about too much. This bustling, pushing rabble, that calls itself society one should take her out of it occasionally. Convents are very quiet, very convenient, very salutary. I like to think of her there, in the old garden, under the arcade, among those tranquil, virtuous women. Many of them are gentlewomen born ; several of them are noble. She will have her books and her drawing ;
