Page 483 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘I should have said ‘Wait a little longer.’
‘Wait for what?’
‘Well, for a little more light,’ said Ralph with rather an
absurd smile, while his hands found their way into his
pockets.
‘Where should my light have come from? From you?’
‘I might have struck a spark or two.’
Isabel had drawn off her gloves; she smoothed them out
as they lay upon her knee. The mildness of this movement
was accidental, for her expression was not conciliatory.
‘You’re beating about the bush, Ralph. You wish to say you
don’t like Mr. Osmond, and yet you’re afraid.’
‘Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike’? I’m willing
to wound him, yes-but not to wound you. I’m afraid of you,
not of him. If you marry him it won’t be a fortunate way for
me to have spoken.’
‘If I marry him! Have you had any expectation of dis-
suading me?’
‘Of course that seems to you too fatuous.’
‘No,’ said Isabel after a little; ‘it seems to me too touch-
ing.’
‘That’s the same thing. It makes me so ridiculous that
you pity me.’
She stroked out her long gloves again. ‘I know you’ve a
great affection for me. I can’t get rid of that.’
‘For heaven’s sake don’t try. Keep that well in sight. It will
convince you how intensely I want you to do well.’
‘And how little you trust me!’
There was a moment’s silence; the warm noon-tide

483