Madame Merle's eyes took the same direction; then she looked serenely at her neighbour. "You know I never understand you very well," she answered, smiling.
"No one can understand better than you when you wish. I see that, just now, you don't wish to."
"You say things to me that no one else does," said Madame Merle, gravely, but without bitterness.
"You mean things you don't like? Doesn't Osmond sometimes say such things?"
"What your brother says has a point."
"Yes, a very sharp one sometimes. If you mean that I am not so clever as he, you must not think I shall suffer from your saying it. But it will be much better that you should understand me."
"Why so?" asked Madame Merle; "what difference will it make?"
"If I don't approve of your plan, you ought to know it in order to appreciate the danger of my interfering with it."
Madame Merle looked as if she were ready to admit that there might be something in this; but in a moment she said quietly—"You think me more calculating than I am."
"It's not your calculating that I think ill of; it's your calculating wrong. You have done so in this case."
"You must have made extensive calculations yourself to discover it."
"No, I have not had time for that. I have seen the girl but this once," said the Countess, "and the conviction has suddenly come to me. I like her very much."
"So do I," Madame Merle declared.
"You have a strange way of showing it."
