‘Papa said I was not to talk with you.’

‘Do you sacrifice me like that? Ah, it’s too much!’

‘I wish you’d wait a little,’ said the girl in a voice just distinct enough to betray a quaver.

‘Of course I’ll wait if you’ll give me hope. But you take my life away.’

‘I’ll not give you up—oh no!’ Pansy went on.

‘He’ll try and make you marry some one else.’

‘I’ll never do that.’

‘What then are we to wait for?’

She hesitated again. ‘I’ll speak to Mrs Osmond and she’ll help us.’ It was in this manner that she for the most part designated her stepmother.

‘She won’t help us much. She’s afraid.’

‘Afraid of what?’

‘Of your father, I suppose.’

Pansy shook her little head. ‘She’s not afraid of any one. We must have patience.’

‘Ah, that’s an awful word,’ Rosier groaned; he was deeply disconcerted. Oblivious of the customs of good society, he dropped his head into his hands and, supporting it with a melancholy grace, sat staring at the carpet. Presently he became aware of a good deal of movement about him and, as he looked up, saw Pansy making a curtsey—it was still her little curtsey of the convent—to the English lord whom Mrs Osmond had introduced.