deep longing, answered that she had greatly wished her to speak and that she begged her to advise her now.

‘It’s difficult for me to advise you,’ Isabel returned. ‘I don’t know how I can undertake that. That’s for your father; you must get his advice and, above all, you must act on it.’

At this Pansy dropped her eyes; for a moment she said nothing. ‘I think I should like your advice better than papa’s,’ she presently remarked.

‘That’s not as it should be,’ said Isabel coldly. ‘I love you very much, but your father loves you better.’

‘It isn’t because you love me—it’s because you’re a lady,’ Pansy answered with the air of saying something very reasonable. ‘A lady can advise a young girl better than a man.’

‘I advise you then to pay the greatest respect to your father’s wishes.’

‘Ah yes,’ said the child eagerly, ‘I must do that.’

‘But if I speak to you now about your getting married it’s not for your own sake, it’s for mine,’ Isabel went on. ‘If I try to learn from you what you expect, what you desire, it’s only that I may act accordingly.’

Pansy stared, and then very quickly, ‘Will you do everything I want?’ she asked.

‘Before I say yes I must know what such things are.’

Pansy presently told her that the only thing she wanted in life was to marry Mr Rosier. He had asked her and she had told him she would do so if her papa would allow it. Now her papa wouldn’t allow it.

‘Very well then, it’s impossible,’ Isabel pronounced.

‘Yes, it’s impossible,’ said Pansy without a sigh and with the same extreme attention in her clear little face.

‘You must think of something else then,’ Isabel went on; but Pansy, sighing at this, told her that she had attempted that feat without the least success.

‘You think of those who think of you,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘I know Mr Rosier thinks of me.’

‘He ought not to,’ said Isabel loftily. ‘Your father has expressly requested he shouldn’t.’

‘He can’t help it, because he knows I think of him.’

‘You shouldn’t think of him. There’s some excuse for him, perhaps; but there’s none for you.’

‘I wish you would try to find one,’ the girl exclaimed as if she were praying to the Madonna.

‘I should be very sorry to attempt it,’ said the Madonna with unusual frigidity. ‘If you knew some one else was thinking of you, would you think of him?’

‘No one can think of me as Mr Rosier does; no one has the right.’

‘Ah, but I don’t admit Mr Rosier’s right!’ Isabel hypocritically cried.

Pansy only gazed at her, evidently much puzzled; and Isabel, taking advantage of it, began to represent to her the wretched consequences of disobeying her father. At this Pansy stopped her with the assurance that she would never disobey him, would never marry without his consent. And she announced, in the serenest, simplest tone, that, though she might never marry Mr Rosier, she would never cease to think