"What then are we to wait for?"
She hesitated a moment.
"I will speak to Mrs. Osmond, and she will help us." It was in this manner that she for the most part designated her stepmother.
"She won't help us much. She is afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Of your father, I suppose."
Pansy shook her little head.
"She is not afraid of any one! We must have patience."
"Ah, that's an awful word," Rosier groaned; he was deeply disconcerted. Oblivious of the customs of good society, he dropped his head into his hands, and, supporting it with a melancholy grace, sat staring at the carpet. Presently he became aware of a good deal of movement about him, and when he looked up saw Pansy making a curtsey—it was still her little curtsey of the convent—to the English lord whom Mrs. Osmond had presented.
