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gether in private. No definite suspicion had as yet taken its
place; but it was enough to make her view this friend with a
different eye, to have been led to reflect that there was more
intention in her past behaviour than she had allowed for at
the time. Ah yes, there had been intention, there had been in-
tention, Isabel said to herself; and she seemed to wake from
a long pernicious dream. What was it that brought home
to her that Madame Merle’s intention had not been good?
Nothing but the mistrust which had lately taken body and
which married itself now to the fruitful wonder produced
by her visitor’s challenge on behalf of poor Pansy. There was
something in this challenge which had at the very outset ex-
cited an answering defiance; a nameless vitality which she
could see to have been absent from her friend’s professions
of delicacy and caution. Madame Merle had been unwilling
to interfere, certainly, but only so long as there was noth-
ing to interfere with. It will perhaps seem to the reader that
Isabel went fast in casting doubt, on mere suspicion, on a
sincerity proved by several years of good offices. She moved
quickly indeed, and with reason, for a strange truth was fil-
tering into her soul. Madame Merle’s interest was identical
with Osmond’s: that was enough. ‘I think Pansy will tell you
nothing that will make you more angry,’ she said in answer
to her companion’s last remark.
I’m not in the least angry. I’ve only a great desire to re-
trieve the situation. Do you consider that Warburton has
left us for ever?’
‘I can’t tell you; I don’t understand you. It’s all over;
please let it rest. Osmond has talked to me a great deal about

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