Page 218 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘Call it two then,’ said Isabel with a studied effect of ea-
gerness.
‘And what shall I gain by that?’ her friend asked with no
sign of wincing.
‘You’ll have obliged me greatly.’
‘And what will be my reward?’
‘Do you need a reward for an act of generosity?’
‘Yes, when it involves a great sacrifice.’
‘There’s no generosity without some sacrifice. Men don’t
understand such things. If you make the sacrifice you’ll
have all my admiration.’
‘I don’t care a cent for your admiration—not one straw,
with nothing to show for it. When will you marry me? That’s
the only question.’
‘Never—if you go on making me feel only as I feel at
present.’
‘What do I gain then by not trying to make you feel oth-
erwise?’
‘You’ll gain quite as much as by worrying me to death!’
Caspar Goodwood bent his eyes again and gazed a while
into the crown of his hat. A deep flush overspread his face;
she could see her sharpness had at last penetrated. This im-
mediately had a value—classic, romantic, redeeming, what
did she know?—for her; ‘the strong man in pain’ was one of
the categories of the human appeal, little charm as he might
exert in the given case. ‘Why do you make me say such
things to you?’ she cried in a trembling voice. ‘I only want to
be gentle—to be thoroughly kind. It’s not delightful to me
to feel people care for me and yet to have to try and reason

218 The Portrait of a Lady