“And mine’s only from William,” said Isabel mournfully.
“From William—already?”
“He’s sending you back your marriage lines as a gentle reminder.”
“Does everybody have marriage lines? I thought they were only for servants.”
“Pages and pages! Look at her! A Lady reading a Letter,” said Dennis.
My darling, precious Isabel. Pages and pages there were. As Isabel read on her feeling of astonishment changed to a stifled feeling. What on earth had induced William . . . ? How extraordinary it was. . . . What could have made him . . . ? She felt confused, more and more excited, even frightened. It was just like William. Was it? It was absurd, of course, it must be absurd, ridiculous. “Ha, ha, ha! Oh dear!” What was she to do? Isabel flung back in her chair and laughed till she couldn’t stop laughing.
“Do, do tell us,” said the others. “You must tell us.”
“I’m longing to,” gurgled Isabel. She sat up, gathered the letter, and waved it at them. “Gather round,” she said. “Listen, it’s too marvellous. A love-letter!”
“A love-letter! But how divine!” Darling, precious Isabel. But she had hardly begun before their laughter interrupted her.
“Go on, Isabel, it’s perfect.”
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