Pansy looked at her pleadingly. ‘Did papa tell you to bring me?’

‘No; it’s my own proposal.’

‘I think I had better wait then. Did papa send me no message?’

‘I don’t think he knew I was coming.’

‘He thinks I’ve not had enough,’ said Pansy. ‘But I have. The ladies are very kind to me and the little girls come to see me. There are some very little ones—such charming children. Then my room—you can see for yourself. All that’s very delightful. But I’ve had enough. Papa wished me to think a little—and I’ve thought a great deal.’

‘What have you thought?’

‘Well, that I must never displease papa.’

‘You knew that before.’

‘Yes; but I know it better. I’ll do anything—I’ll do anything,’ said Pansy. Then, as she heard her own words, a deep, pure blush came into her face. Isabel read the meaning of it; she saw the poor girl had been vanquished. It was well that Mr Edward Rosier had kept his enamels! Isabel looked into her eyes and saw there mainly a prayer to be treated easily. She laid her hand on Pansy’s as if to let her know that her look conveyed no diminution of esteem; for the collapse of the girl’s momentary resistance (mute and modest though it had been) seemed only her tribute to the truth of things. She didn’t presume to judge others, but she had judged herself; she had seen the reality. She had no vocation for struggling with combinations; in the solemnity of sequestration there was something that overwhelmed her. She bowed her pretty head to authority and only asked of authority to be merciful. Yes; it was very well that Edward Rosier had reserved a few articles!

Isabel got up; her time was rapidly shortening. ‘Good-bye then. I leave Rome to-night.’

Pansy took hold of her dress; there was a sudden change in the child’s face. ‘You look strange; you frighten me.’

‘Oh, I’m very harmless,’ said Isabel.

‘Perhaps you won’t come back?’

‘Perhaps not. I can’t tell.’

‘Ah, Mrs Osmond, you won’t leave me!’

Isabel now saw she had guessed everything. ‘My dear child, what can I do for you?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know—but I’m happier when I think of you.’

‘You can always think of me.’

‘Not when you’re so far. I’m a little afraid,’ said Pansy.

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘Of papa—a little. And of Madame Merle. She has just been to see me.’

‘You must not say that,’ Isabel observed.