Osmond turned his head quickly; but at first he said nothing. Then—"Why didn't you tell me that?" he asked, quickly.
"There was no opportunity. You know how we live. I have taken the first chance that has offered."
"Did you speak to him of Rosier?"
"Oh yes, a little."
"That was hardly necessary."
"I thought it best he should know, so that, so that———" And Isabel paused.
"So that what?"
"So that he should act accordingly."
"So that he should back out, do you mean?"
"No, so that he should advance while there is yet time."
"That is not the effect it seems to have had."
"You should have patience," said Isabel. "You know Englishmen are shy."
"This one is not. He was not when he made love to you."
She had been afraid Osmond would speak of that; it was disagreeable to her. "I beg your pardon; he was extremely so," she said simply.
He answered nothing for some time; he took up a book and turned over the pages, while Isabel sat silent, occupying herself with Pansy's tapestry. "You must have a great deal of influence with him," Osmond went on at last. "The moment you really wish it, you can bring him to the point."
This was more disagreeable still; but Isabel felt it to be natural that her husband should say it, and it was after all something very much of the same sort that she had said to herself. "Why should I have influence?" she asked. "What have I ever done to put him under an obligation to me?"
