Pansy reflected a moment, turning gravely from one of the persons mentioned to the other. Then her face broke into its perfect smile. ‘I have a pretty dress, but even that one’s very simple. Why should I expose it beside your beautiful things?’

‘Because it’s the prettiest you have; for me you must always wear the prettiest. Please put it on the next time. It seems to me they don’t dress you so well as they might.’

The child sparingly stroked down her antiquated skirt. ‘It’s a good little dress to make tea—don’t you think? Don’t you believe papa would allow me?’

‘Impossible for me to say, my child,’ said the Countess. ‘For me, your father’s ideas are unfathomable. Madame Merle understands them better. Ask her.’

Madame Merle smiled with her usual grace. ‘It’s a weighty question—let me think. It seems to me it would please your father to see a careful little daughter making his tea. It’s the proper duty of the daughter of the house—when she grows up.’

‘So it seems to me, Madame Merle!’ Pansy cried. ‘You shall see how well I’ll make it. A spoonful for each.’ And she began to busy herself at the table.

‘Two spoonfuls for me,’ said the Countess, who, with Madame Merle, remained for some moments watching her. ‘Listen to me, Pansy,’ the Countess resumed at last. ‘I should like to know what you think of your visitor.’

‘Ah, she’s not mine—she’s papa’s,’ Pansy objected.

‘Miss Archer came to see you as well,’ said Madame Merle.

‘I’m very happy to hear that. She has been very polite to me.’

‘Do you like her then?’ the Countess asked.

‘She’s charming—charming,’ Pansy repeated in her little neat conversational tone. ‘She pleases me thoroughly.’

‘And how do you think she pleases your father?’

‘Ah really, Countess!’ murmured Madame Merle dissuasively. ‘Go and call them to tea,’ she went on to the child.

‘You’ll see if they don’t like it!’ Pansy declared; and departed to summon the others, who had still lingered at the end of the terrace.

‘If Miss Archer’s to become her mother it’s surely interesting to know if the child likes her,’ said the Countess.

‘If your brother marries again it won’t be for Pansy’s sake,’ Madame Merle replied. ‘She’ll soon be sixteen, and after that she’ll begin to need a husband rather than a stepmother.’

‘And will you provide the husband as well?’

‘I shall certainly take an interest in her marrying fortunately. I imagine you’ll do the same.’

‘Indeed I shan’t!’ cried the Countess. ‘Why should I, of all women, set such a price on a husband?’

‘You didn’t marry fortunately; that’s what I’m speaking of. When I say a husband I mean a good one.’

‘There are no good ones. Osmond won’t be a good one.’