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her a moment somewhat fiercely, as if to notify her he was
dangerous, and then dropped his eyes on her bouquet. After
he had inspected it his glance softened and he said quickly:
‘It’s all pansies; it must be hers!’
Isabel smiled kindly. ‘Yes, it’s hers; she gave it to me to
hold.’
‘May I hold it a little, Mrs. Osmond?’ the poor young
man asked.
‘No, I can’t trust you; I’m afraid you wouldn’t give it
back.’
‘I’m not sure that I should; I should leave the house with
it instantly.
But may I not at least have a single flower?’
Isabel hesitated a moment, and then, smiling still, held
out the bouquet.
‘Choose one yourself. It’s frightful what I’m doing for
you.’
‘Ah, if you do no more than this, Mrs. Osmond!’ Rosier
exclaimed with his glass in one eye, carefully choosing his
flower.
‘Don’t put it into your button-hole,’ she said. ‘Don’t for
the world!
‘I should like her to see it. She has refused to dance with
me, but I wish to show her that I believe in her still.’
‘It’s very well to show it to her, but it’s out of place to show
it to others. Her father has told her not to dance with you.’
‘And is that all you can do for me? I expected more from
you, Mrs. Osmond,’ said the young man in a tone of fine
general reference. ‘You know our acquaintance goes back

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