"We neither of us have any position to speak of; but she is better off than I, because she has none of the bother."
"Yes, she doesn't look as if she had much bother. I wish I had as little bother as that. You do produce quiet people over here, whatever you may do."
"Ah, you see one takes life easily, on the whole," said Lord Warburton. "And then you know we are very dull. Ah, we can be dull when we try!"
"I should advise you to try something else. I shouldn't know what to talk to your sister about; she looks so different. Is that silver cross a badge?"
"A badge?"
"A sign of rank."
Lord Warburton's glance had wandered a good deal, but at this it met the gaze of his neighbour.
"Oh, yes," he answered, in a moment; "the women go in for those things. The silver cross is worn by the eldest daughters of Viscounts."
This was his harmless revenge for having occasionally had his credulity too easily engaged in America.
After lunch he proposed to Isabel to come into the gallery and look at the pictures; and though she knew that he had seen the pictures twenty times, she complied without criticising this pretext. Her conscience now was very easy; ever since she sent him her letter she had felt particularly light of spirit. He walked slowly to the end of the gallery, staring at the paintings and saying nothing; and then he suddenly broke out—
"I hoped you wouldn't write to me that way."
"It was the only way, Lord Warburton," said the girl. "Do try and believe that."
