"It would be an act of true hospitality."
"Caspar Goodwood," Ralph continued—"it's rather a striking name."
"I don't care anything about his name. It might be Ezekiel Jenkins, and I should say the same. He is the only man I have ever seen whom I think worthy of Isabel."
"You are a very devoted friend," said Ralph.
"Of course I am. If you say that to laugh at me, I don't care."
"I don't say it to laugh at you; I am very much struck with it."
"You are laughing worse than ever; but I advise you not to laugh at Mr. Goodwood."
"I assure you I am very serious; you ought to understand that," said Ralph.
In a moment his companion understood it. "I believe you are; now you are too serious."
"You are difficult to please."
"Oh, you are very serious indeed. You won't invite Mr. Goodwood."
"I don't know," said Ralph. "I am capable of strange things. Tell me a little about Mr. Goodwood. What is he like?"
"He is just the opposite of you. He is at the head of a cotton factory; a very fine one."
"Has he pleasant manners?" asked Ralph.
"Splendid manners—in the American style."
"Would he be an agreeable member of our little circle?"
"I don't think he would care much about our little circle. He would concentrate on Isabel."
"And how would my cousin like that?"
