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to whom it had occurred that so inveterate a visitor might
wish to say just the last word of all to the ladies. ‘I’ve a let-
ter to write before dinner,’ he said; ‘you must excuse me.
I’ll see if my daughter’s disengaged, and if she is she shall
know you’re here. Of course when you come to Rome you’ll
always look us up. Mrs. Osmond will talk to you about the
English expedition: she decides all those things.’
The nod with which, instead of a hand-shake, he wound
up this little speech was perhaps rather a meagre form of sal-
utation; but on the whole it was all the occasion demanded.
Isabel reflected that after he left the room Lord Warburton
would have no pretext for saying, ‘Your husband’s very an-
gry”; which would have been extremely disagreeable to her.
Nevertheless, if he had done so, she would have said: ‘Oh,
don’t be anxious. He doesn’t hate you: it’s me that he hates!’
It was only when they had been left alone together that
her friend showed a certain vague awkwardness-sitting
down in another chair, handling two or three of the objects
that were near him. ‘I hope he’ll make Miss Osmond come,’
he presently remarked. ‘I want very much to see her.’
‘I’m glad it’s the last time,’ said Isabel.
‘So am I. She doesn’t care for me.’
‘No, she doesn’t care for you.’
‘I don’t wonder at it,’ he returned. Then he added with
inconsequence:
‘You’ll come to England, won’t you?’
‘I think we had better not.’
‘Ah, you owe me a visit. Don’t you remember that you
were to have come to Lockleigh once, and you never did?’

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