Page 423 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

times a keenly-glancing, quickly-moving, completely ani-
mated young woman, he may have been mistaken on this
point. Her talk with him moreover pointed to presence of
mind; it expressed a kindness so ingenious and deliber-
ate as to indicate that she was in undisturbed possession
of her faculties. Poor Lord Warburton had moments of be-
wilderment. She had discouraged him, formally, as much
as a woman could; what business had she then with such
arts and such felicities, above all with such tones of repa-
ration—preparation? Her voice had tricks of sweetness, but
why play them on him? The others came back; the bare, fa-
miliar, trivial opera began again. The box was large, and
there was room for him to remain if he would sit a little be-
hind and in the dark. He did so for half an hour, while Mr.
Osmond remained in front, leaning forward, his elbows on
his knees, just behind Isabel. Lord Warburton heard noth-
ing, and from his gloomy corner saw nothing but the clear
profile of this young lady defined against the dim illumina-
tion of the house. When there was another interval no one
moved. Mr. Osmond talked to Isabel, and Lord Warburton
kept his corner. He did so but for a short time, however; af-
ter which he got up and bade good-night to the ladies. Isabel
said nothing to detain him, but it didn’t prevent his being
puzzled again. Why should she mark so one of his values-
quite the wrong one—when she would have nothing to do
with another, which was quite the right? He was angry with
himself for being puzzled, and then angry for being an-
gry. Verdi’s music did little to comfort him, and he left the
theatre and walked homeward, without knowing his way,

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