A sudden blush sprung to his face. "You told me that she would have no wish apart from her father's, and as I have gathered that he would favour me—" He paused a little, and then he added—"Don't you see?" suggestively, through his blush.
"Yes, I told you that she had an immense wish to please her father, and that it would probably take her very far."
"That seems to me a very proper feeling," said Lord Warburton.
"Certainly; it's a very proper feeling." Isabel remained silent for some moments; the room continued to be empty; the sound of the music reached them with its richness softened by the interposing apartments. Then at last she said—"But it hardly strikes me as the sort of feeling to which a man would wish to be indebted for a wife."
"I don't know; if the wife is a good one, and he thinks she does well!"
"Yes, of course you must think that."
"I do; I can't help it. You call that very British, of course."
"No, I don't. I think Pansy would do wonderfully well to marry you, and I don't know who should know it better than you. But you are not in love."
"Ah, yes I am, Mrs. Osmond!"
Isabel shook her head. "You like to think you are, while you sit here with me. But that's not how you strike me."
"I'm not like the young man in the doorway. I admit that. But what makes it so unnatural? Could anything in the world be more charming than Miss Osmond?"
"Nothing, possibly. But love has nothing to do with good reasons."
