No, I'm not a failure, as I used to think; I've succeeded in two things.

I'm to marry the woman I adore, and I've brought up my child, as I wished, in the old way." He was very fond, in all things, of the "old way"; that had struck Isabel as one of his fine, quiet, sincere notes.

"It occurs to me that you'll not know whether you've succeeded until you've told her," she said.

"You must see how she takes your news, She may be horrified--she may be jealous." "I'm not afraid of that; she's too fond of you on her own account.

I should like to leave her in the dark a little longer--to see if it will come into her head that if we're not engaged we ought to be." Isabel was impressed by Osmond's artistic, the plastic view, as it somehow appeared, of Pansy's innocence--her own appreciation of it being more anxiously moral.