nd her husband had chosen this
habitation for the love of local colour. It had local colour enough,
and though he knew less about architecture than about Limoges enamels
he could see that the proportions of the windows and even the details
of the cornice had quite the grand air. But Rosier was haunted by the
conviction that at picturesque periods young girls had been shut up
there to keep them from their true loves, and hen, under the threat of
being thrown into convents, had been forced into unholy marriages. There
was one point, however, to which he always did justice when once he
found himself in Mrs. Osmond's warm, rich-looking reception-rooms, which
were on the second floor. He acknowledged that these people were very
strong in "good things." It was a taste of Osmond's own--not at all of
hers; this she had told him the first time he came to the house, when,
after asking himself for a quarter of an hour whether they had even
better "French" than he in Paris, he was obliged on the spot to admit
that they had, very much, and vanquished his envy, as a gentleman
should, to the point of expressing to his hostess his pure admiration of
her treasures. He learned from Mrs. Osmond that her husband had made a
large collection before their marriage and that, though he had annexed
a number of fine pieces within the last three years, he had achieved his
greatest finds at a time when he had not the advantage of her advice.
Rosier interpreted this information according to principles of his own.
For "advice" read "cash," he said to himself; and the fact that Gilbert
Osmond had landed his highest prizes during his impecunious season
confirmed his most cherished doctrine--the doctrine that a collector may
freely be poor if he be only patient. In general, when Rosier presented
himself on a Thursday evening, his first recognition was for the walls
of the saloon; there were three or four objects his eyes really
yearned for. But after his talk with Madame Merle he felt the extreme
seriousness of his position; and now, when he came in, he looked about
for the daughter of the house with such eagerness as might be permitted
a gentleman whose smile, as he crossed a threshold, always took
everything comfortable for granted.

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 p