Page 238 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

we were in London, and when it had been arranged that I
should spend the evening out I sent him a word—the word
we just utter to the ‘wise.’ I hoped he would find her alone; I
won’t pretend I didn’t hope that you’d be out of the way. He
came to see her, but he might as well have stayed away.’
‘Isabel was cruel?’—and Ralph’s face lighted with the re-
lief of his cousin’s not having shown duplicity.
‘I don’t exactly know what passed between them. But she
gave him no satisfaction—she sent him back to America.’
‘Poor Mr. Goodwood!’ Ralph sighed.
‘Her only idea seems to be to get rid of him,’ Henrietta
went on.
‘Poor Mr. Goodwood!’ Ralph repeated. The exclamation,
it must be confessed, was automatic; it failed exactly to ex-
press his thoughts, which were taking another line.
‘You don’t say that as if you felt it. I don’t believe you
care.’
‘Ah,’ said Ralph, ‘you must remember that I don’t know
this interesting young man—that I’ve never seen him.’
‘Well, I shall see him, and I shall tell him not to give up.
If I didn’t believe Isabel would come round,’ Miss Stackpole
added‘well, I’d give up myself. I mean I’d give her up!’

238 The Portrait of a Lady