She came very soon to what she wished to speak of. “I want you to answer me a question. It’s about Lord Warburton.”
“I think I guess your question,” Ralph answered from his armchair, out of which his thin legs protruded at greater length than ever.
“Very possibly you guess it. Please then answer it.”
“Oh, I don’t say I can do that.”
“You’re intimate with him,” she said; “you’ve a great deal of observation of him.”
“Very true. But think how he must dissimulate!”
“Why should he dissimulate? That’s not his nature.”
“Ah, you must remember that the circumstances are peculiar,” said Ralph with an air of private amusement.
“To a certain extent—yes. But is he really in love?”
“Very much, I think. I can make that out.”
“Ah!” said Isabel with a certain dryness.
Ralph looked at her as if his mild hilarity had been touched with mystification. “You say that as if you were disappointed.”
Isabel got up, slowly smoothing her gloves and eyeing them thoughtfully. “It’s after all no business of mine.”
“You’re very philosophic,” said her cousin. And then in a moment: “May I enquire what you’re talking about?”
Isabel stared. “I thought you knew. Lord Warburton tells me he wants, of all things in the world, to marry Pansy. I’ve told you that before, without eliciting a comment from you. You might risk one this morning, I think. Is it your belief that he really cares for her?”
“Ah, for Pansy, no!” cried Ralph very positively.
“But you said just now he did.”
Ralph waited a moment. “That he cared for you, Mrs. Osmond.”
Isabel shook her head gravely. “That’s nonsense, you know.”
“Of course it is. But the nonsense is Warburton’s, not mine.”
“That would be very tiresome.” She spoke, as she flattered herself, with much subtlety.
“I ought to tell you indeed,” Ralph went on, “that to me he has denied it.”
“It’s very good of you to talk about it together! Has he also told you that he’s in love with Pansy?”
“He has spoken very well of her—very properly. He has let me know, of course, that he thinks she would do very well at Lockleigh.”
“Does he really think it?”
“Ah, what Warburton really thinks—!” said Ralph.
Isabel fell to smoothing her gloves again; they were long, loose gloves on which she could freely expend herself. Soon, however, she looked up, and then, “Ah, Ralph, you give me no help!” she cried abruptly and passionately.
It was the first time she had alluded to the need for help, and the words shook her cousin with their violence. He gave a long murmur of relief, of pity, of tenderness; it seemed to him that at last the gulf between them had been bridged. It was this that made him exclaim in a moment: “How unhappy you must be!”
He had no sooner spoken than she recovered her self-possession, and the first use she made of it was to pretend she had not heard him. “When I talk of your helping me I talk great nonsense,” she said with a quick smile. “The idea of my troubling you with my domestic embarrassments! The matter’s very simple; Lord Warburton must get on by himself. I can’t undertake to see him through.”
“He ought to succeed easily,” said Ralph.
Isabel debated. “Yes—but he has not always succeeded.”
“Very true. You know, however, how that always surprised me. Is Miss Osmond capable of giving us a surprise?”
“It will come from him, rather. I seem to see that after all he’ll let the matter drop.”
“He’ll do nothing dishonourable,” said Ralph.
“I’m very sure of that. Nothing can be more honourable than for him to leave the poor child alone. She cares for another person, and it’s cruel to attempt to bribe her by magnificent offers to give him up.”
“Cruel to the other person perhaps—the one she cares for. But Warburton isn’t obliged to mind that.”
“No, cruel to her,” said Isabel. “She would be very unhappy if she were to allow herself to be persuaded to desert poor Mr. Rosier. That idea seems to amuse you; of course you’re not in love with him. He has the merit—for Pansy—of being in love with Pansy. She can see at a glance that Lord Warburton isn’t.”
“He’d be very good to her,” said Ralph.
“He has been good to her already. Fortunately, however, he has not said a word to disturb her. He could come and bid her goodbye tomorrow with perfect propriety.”
“How would your husband like that?”
“Not at all; and he may be right in not liking it. Only he must obtain satisfaction himself.”
“Has he commissioned you to obtain it?” Ralph ventured to ask.
“It was natural that as an old friend of Lord Warburton’s—an older friend, that is, than Gilbert—I should take an interest in his intentions.”
“Take an interest in his renouncing them, you mean?”
Isabel hesitated, frowning a little. “Let me understand. Are you pleading his cause?”
“Not in the least. I’m very glad he shouldn’t become your stepdaughter’s husband. It makes such a very queer relation to you!” said Ralph, smiling. “But I’m rather nervous lest your husband should think you haven’t pushed him enough.”
Isabel found herself able to smile as well as he. “He knows me well enough not to have expected me to
