Page 657 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘Ah, what Warburton really thinks-!’ said Ralph.
Isabel fell to smoothing her gloves again; they were long,
loose gloves on which she could freely expend herself. Soon,
however, she looked up, and then, ‘Ah, Ralph, you give me
no help!’ she cried abruptly and passionately.
It was the first time she had alluded to the need for help,
and the words shook her cousin with their violence. He gave
a long murmur of relief, of pity, of tenderness; it seemed to
him that at last the gulf between them had been bridged.
It was this that made him exclaim in a moment: ‘How un-
happy you must be!’
He had no sooner spoken than she recovered her self-
possession, and the first use she made of it was to pretend
she had not heard him. ‘When I talk of your helping me I
talk great nonsense,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘The idea of
my troubling you with my domestic embarrassments! The
matter’s very simple; Lord Warburton must get on by him-
self. I can’t undertake to see him through.’
‘He ought to succeed easily,’ said Ralph.
Isabel debated. ‘Yes-but he has not always succeeded.’
‘Very true. You know, however, how that always surprised
me. Is Miss Osmond capable of giving us a surprise?’
‘It will come from him, rather. I seem to see that after all
he’ll let the matter drop.’
‘He’ll do nothing dishonourable,’ said Ralph.
‘I’m very sure of that. Nothing can be more honour-
able than for him to leave the poor child alone. She cares
for another person, and it’s cruel to attempt to bribe her by
magnificent offers to give him up.’

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