Isabel liked her company; it had the effect of one's carrying a nosegay composed all of the same flower.

And then not to neglect Pansy, not under any provocation to neglect her--this she had made an article of religion.
The young girl had every appearance of being happier in Isabel's society than in that of any one save her father,--whom she admired with an intensity justified by the fact that, as paternity was an exquisite pleasure to Gilbert Osmond, he had always been luxuriously mild.

Isabel knew how Pansy liked to be with her and how she studied the means of pleasing her.

She had decided that the best way of pleasing her was negative, and consisted in not giving her trouble--a conviction which certainly could have had no reference to trouble already existing.

She was therefore ingeniously passive and almost imaginatively docile; she was careful even to moderate the eagerness with which she assented to Isabel's propositions and which might have implied that she could have thought otherwise.