Page 148 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

Miss Archer, let me lose all I possess!’
She wondered whether he meant this for a reminder that
he was rich, and, on the instant, felt sure that he didn’t. He
was sinking that, as he would have said himself; and indeed
he might safely leave it to the memory of any interlocutor,
especially of one to whom he was offering his hand. Isabel
had prayed that she might not be agitated, and her mind was
tranquil enough, even while she listened and asked herself
what it was best she should say, to indulge in this incidental
criticism. What she should say, had she asked herself? Her
foremost wish was to say something if possible not less kind
than what he had said to her. His words had carried perfect
conviction with them; she felt she did, all so mysteriously,
matter to him. ‘I thank you more than I can say for your of-
fer,’ she returned at last. ‘It does me great honour.’
‘Ah, don’t say that!’ he broke out. ‘I was afraid you’d say
something like that. I don’t see what you’ve to do with that
sort of thing. I don’t see why you should thank me—it’s
I who ought to thank you for listening to me: a man you
know so little coming down to you with such a thumper!
Of course it’s a great question; I must tell you that I’d rath-
er ask it than have it to answer myself. But the way you’ve
listened—or at least your having listened at all—gives me
some hope.’
‘Don’t hope too much,’ Isabel said.
‘Oh, Miss Archer!’ her companion murmured, smiling
again, in his seriousness, as if such a warning might per-
haps be taken but as the play of high spirits, the exuberance
of elation.

148 The Portrait of a Lady