Chapter 37

CHAPTER XXXVII

Pansy was not in the first of the rooms, a large apartment with a
concave ceiling and walls covered with old red damask; it was here
Mrs. Osmond usually sat--though she was not in her most customary
place to-night--and that a circle of more especial intimates
gathered about the fire. The room was flushed with subdued,
diffused brightness; it contained the larger things and--almost
always--an odour of flowers. Pansy on this occasion was
presumably in the next of the series, the resort of younger
visitors, where tea was served. Osmond stood before the chimney,
leaning back with his hands behind him; he had one foot up and
was warming the sole. Half a dozen persons, scattered near him,
were talking together; but he was not in the conversation; his
eyes had an expression, frequent with them, that seemed to
represent them as engaged with objects more worth their while
than the appearances actually thrust upon them. Rosier, coming in
unannounced, failed to attract his attention; but the young man,
who was very punctilious, though he was even exceptionally
conscious that it was the wife, not the husband, he had come to
see, went up to shake hands with him. Osmond put out his left
hand, without changing his attitude.

"How d'ye do? My wife's somewhere about."

"Never fear; I shall find her," said Rosier cheerfully.

Osmond, however, took him in; he had never in his life felt
himself so efficiently looked at. "Madame Merle has told him, and
he doesn't like it," he privately reasoned. He had hoped Madame
Merle would be there, but she was not in sight; perhaps she was in
one of the other rooms or would come later. He had never
especially delighted in Gilbert Osmond, having a fancy he gave
himself airs. But Rosier was not quickly resentful, and where
politeness was concerned had ever a strong need of being quite in
the right. He looked round him and smiled, all without help, and
then in a moment, "I saw a jolly good piece of Capo di Monte
to-day," he said.

Osmond answered nothing at first; but presently, while he warmed
his boot-sole, "I don't care a fig for Capo di Monte!" he
returned.

"I hope you're not losing your interest?"

"In old pots and plates? Yes, I'm losing my interest."

Rosier for an instant forgot the delicacy of his position. "You're
not thinking of parting with a--a piece or two?"

"No, I'm not thinking of parting with anything at all, Mr.
Rosier," said Osmond, with his eyes still on the eyes of his
visitor.

"Ah, you want to keep, but not to add," Rosier remarked brightly.

"Exactly. I've nothing I wish to match."

Poor Rosier was aware he had blushed; he was distressed at his
want of assurance.