"Certainly not, if I can't dance with her!" he answered.
"You had better go away, then," said Isabel, with the manner of good counsel.
"I shall not go till she does!" And he let Lord Warburton pass, without giving him a look. This nobleman, however, had noticed the melancholy youth, and he asked Isabel who her dismal friend was, remarking that he had seen him somewhere before.
"It's the young man I have told you about, who is in love with Pansy," said Isabel.
"Ah yes, I remember. He looks rather bad."
"He has reason. My husband won't listen to him."
"What's the matter with him?" Lord Warburton inquired. "He seems very harmless."
"He hasn't money enough, and he isn't very clever."
Lord Warburton listened with interest; he seemed struck with this account of Edward Rosier. "Dear me; he looked a well-set-up young fellow."
"So he is, but my husband is very particular."
"Oh, I see." And Lord Warburton paused a moment. "How much money has he got?" he then ventured to ask.
"Some forty thousand francs a year."
"Sixteen hundred pounds? Ah, but that's very good, you know."
"So I think. But my husband has larger ideas."
"Yes; I have noticed that your husband has very large ideas. Is he really an idiot, the young man?"
"An idiot? Not in the least; he's charming. When he was twelve years old I myself was in love with him."
"He doesn't look much more than twelve to-day," Lord Warburton rejoined, vaguely, looking about him. Then,
