consciousness. It had been very liberal to-day, for in addition to the general truth that she couldn't leave Ralph to die alone, she had something important to ask of him. This indeed was Gilbert's business as well as her own.
She came very soon to what she wished to speak of.
"I want you to answer me a question," she said. "It's about Lord Warburton."
"I think I know it," Ralph answered from his arm-chair, out of which his thin legs protruded at greater length than ever.
"It's very possible," said Isabel. "Please then answer it."
"Oh, I don't say I can do that."
"You are intimate with him," said Isabel; "you have a great deal of observation of him."
"Very true. But think how he must dissimulate!"
"Why should he dissimulate? That's not his nature."
"Ah, you must remember that the circumstances are peculiar," said Ralph, with an air of private amusement.
"To a certain extent—yes. But is he really in love?"
"Very much, I think. I can make that out."
"Ah!" said Isabel, with a certain dryness.
Ralph looked at her a moment; a shade of perplexity mingled with his mild hilarity.
"You said that as if you were disappointed."
Isabel got up, slowly, smoothing her gloves, and eyeing them thoughtfully.
"It's after all no business of mine."
"You are very philosophic," said her cousin. And then in a moment—"May I inquire what you are talking about?"
Isabel stared a little. "I thought you knew. Lord Warburton tells me he desires to marry Pansy. I have told you that before, without eliciting a comment from you. You might
