Isabel and Mr. Osmond were now slowly coming toward them and Isabel had taken Pansy by the hand."Do you pretend to believe he＇d make her happy?" the Countess demanded.
"If he should marry Miss Archer I suppose he＇d behave like a gentleman."
The Countess jerked herself into a succession of attitudes. "Do you mean as most gentlemen behave?That would be much to be thankful for! Of course Osmond＇s a gentleman; his own sister needn＇t be reminded of that. But does he think he can marry any girl he happens to pick out? Osmond＇s a gentleman, of course; but I must say I＇ve never, no, no, never, seen any one of Osmond＇s pretensions! What they＇re all founded on is more than I can say. I＇m his own sister; I might be supposed to know. Who is he, if you please?What has he ever done? If there had been anything particularly grand in his origin—if he were made of some superior clay—I presume I should have got some inkling of it. If there had been any great honours or splendours in the family I should certainly have made the most of them: they would have been quite in my line. But there＇s nothing, nothing, nothing. One＇s parents were charming people of course; but so were yours, I＇ve no doubt. Every one＇s a charming person nowadays. Even I＇m a charming person; don＇t laugh, it has literally been said. As for Osmond, he has always appeared to believe that he＇s descended from the gods."