deal of time here), and she asked leave to come down for a few days. Madame Merle is a woman who can make such proposals with perfect confidence; she is so welcome wherever she goes. And with my mother there could be no question of hesitating; she is the one person in the world whom my mother very much admires. If she were not herself (which she after all much prefers), she would like to be Madame Merle. It would, indeed, be a great change."
"Well, she is very charming," said Isabel. "And she plays beautifully."
"She does everything beautifully. She is complete."
Isabel looked at her cousin a moment. "You don't like her."
"On the contrary, I was once in love with her."
"And she didn't care for you, and that's why you don't like her."
"How can we have discussed such things? M. Merle was then living."
"Is he dead now?"
"So she says."
"Don't you believe her?"
"Yes, because the statement agrees with the probabilities. The husband of Madame Merle would be likely to pass away."
Isabel gazed at her cousin again. "I don't know what you mean. You mean something—that you don't mean. What was M. Merle?"
"The husband of Madame."
"You are very odious. Has she any children?"
"Not the least little child—fortunately."
"Fortunately?"
"I mean fortunately for the child; she would be sure to spoil it."
