"Oh, he's a nuisance—with his eternal majolica."
Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she had a faint smile. "He's a gentleman, he has a charming temper; and, after all, an income of forty thousand francs!"
"It's misery—'genteel' misery," Osmond broke in. "It's not what I've dreamed of for Pansy."
"Very good then. He has promised me not to speak to her."
"Do you believe him?" Osmond asked absentmindedly.
"Perfectly. Pansy has thought a great deal about him; but I don't suppose you consider that that matters."
