"You have got a very good house."
"Yes, it's very pleasant. But that's not my merit—it's my husband's."
"You mean that he has arranged it?"
"Yes, it was nothing when we came."
"He must be very clever."
"He has a genius for upholstery," said Isabel.
"There is a great rage for that sort of thing now. But you must have a taste of your own."
"I enjoy things when they are done; but I have no ideas. I can never propose anything."
"Do you mean that you accept what others propose?"
"Very willingly, for the most part."
"That's a good thing to know. I shall propose you something."
"It will be very kind. I must say, however, that I have in a few small ways a certain initiative. I should like, for instance, to introduce you to some of these people."
"Oh, please don't; I like sitting here. Unless it be to that young lady in the blue dress. She has a charming face."
"The one talking to the rosy young man? That's my husband's daughter."
"Lucky man, your husband. What a dear little maid!"
"You must make her acquaintance."
"In a moment, with pleasure. I like looking at her from here." He ceased to look at her, however, very soon; his eyes constantly reverted to Mrs. Osmond. "Do you know I was wrong just now in saying that you had changed?" he presently went on. "You seem to me, after all, very much the same."
"And yet I find it's a great change to be married," said Isabel, with gaiety.
