embarrassed, mind. Even from this venial act of vulgarity, however, Ralph was saved, and saved by a force that I can scarcely call anything less than inspiration. With no more outward light on the subject than he already possessed, he suddenly acquired the conviction that it would be a sovereign injustice to the correspondent of the Interviewer to assign a dishonourable motive to any act of hers. This conviction passed into his mind with extreme rapidity; it was perhaps kindled by the pure radiance of the young lady's imperturbable gaze. He returned this gaze a moment, consciously, resisting an inclination to frown, as one frowns in the presence of larger luminaries. "Who is the gentleman you speak of?"
"Mr. Caspar Goodwood, from Boston. He has been extremely attentive to Isabel—just as devoted to her as he can live. He has followed her out here, and he is at present in London. I don't know his address, but I guess I can obtain it."
"I have never heard of him," said Ralph.
"Well, I suppose you haven't heard of every one. I don't believe he has ever heard of you; but that is no reason why Isabel shouldn't marry him."
Ralph gave a small laugh. "What a rage you have for marrying people! Do you remember how you wanted to marry me the other day?"
"I have got over that. You don't know how to take such ideas. Mr. Goodwood does, however; and that's what I like about him. He's a splendid man and a perfect gentleman: and Isabel knows it."
"Is she very fond of him?"
"If she isn't she ought to be. He is simply wrapped up in her."
"And you wish me to ask him here," said Ralph, reflectively.
