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would be a comfortable fit. I asked very little; I only asked
that she should like me.’
‘That she should like you so much!’
‘So much, of course; in such a case one asks the max-
imum. That she should adore me, if you will. Oh yes, I
wanted that.’
‘I never adored you,’ said Madame Merle.
‘Ah, but you pretended to!’
‘It’s true that you never accused me of being a comfort-
able fit,’ Madame Merle went on.
‘My wife has declined-declined to do anything of the
sort,’ said Osmond. ‘If you’re determined to make a tragedy
of that, the tragedy’s hardly for her.’
‘The tragedy’s for me!’ Madame Merle exclaimed, rising
with a long low sigh but having a glance at the same time for
the contents of her mantel-shelf. ‘It appears that I’m to be
severely taught the disadvantages of a false position.’
‘You express yourself like a sentence in a copy-book. We
must look for our comfort where we can find it. If my wife
doesn’t like me, at least my child does. I shall look for com-
pensations in Pansy. Fortunately I haven’t a fault to find
with her.’
‘Ah,’ she said softly, ‘if I had a child-!’
Osmond waited, and then, with a little formal air, ‘The
children of others may be a great interest!’ he announced.
‘You’re more like a copy-book than I. There’s something
after all that holds us together.’
‘Is it the idea of the harm I may do you?’ Osmond asked.
‘No; it’s the idea of the good I may do for you. It’s that,’

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