relief presently, in hearing the high, strained voice of her sister-in-law. The Countess too, apparently, had been thinking the thing out, but had arrived at a different conclusion from Isabel.

‘It’s very absurd, my dear Osmond,’ she said, ‘to invent so many pretty reasons for poor Pansy’s banishment. Why don’t you say at once that you want to get her out of my way? Haven’t you discovered that I think very well of Mr Rosier? I do indeed; he seems to me simpaticissimo.3 He has made me believe in true love; I never did before! Of course you’ve made up your mind that with those convictions I’m dreadful company for Pansy.’

Osmond took a sip of a glass of wine; he looked perfectly goodhumoured. ‘My dear Amy,’ he answered, smiling as if he were uttering a piece of gallantry, ‘I don’t know anything about your convictions, but if I suspected that they interfere with mine it would be much simpler to banish you.’


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