"If I could believe it, of course I should let you alone. But we can't believe by willing it; and I confess I don't understand. I could understand your disliking me; that I could understand well. But that you should admit what you do———"
"What have I admitted?" Isabel interrupted, blushing a little.
"That you think me a good fellow; isn't that it?" She said nothing, and he went on—"You don't seem to have any reason, and that gives me a sense of injustice."
"I have a reason, Lord Warburton," said the girl; and she said it in a tone that made his heart contract.
"I should like very much to know it."
"I will tell you some day when there is more to show for it."
"Excuse my saying that in the meantime I must doubt of it."
"You make me very unhappy," said Isabel.
"I am not sorry for that; it may help you to know how I feel. Will you kindly answer me a question?" Isabel made no audible assent, but he apparently saw something in her eyes which gave him courage to go on. "Do you prefer some one else?"
"That's a question I would rather not answer."
"Ah, you do then!" her suitor murmured with bitterness.
The bitterness touched her, and she cried out—
"You are mistaken! I don't."
He sat down on a bench, unceremoniously, doggedly, like a man in trouble; leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.
"I can't even be glad of that," he said at last, throwing himself back against the wall, "for that would be an excuse."
Isabel raised her eyebrows, with a certain eagerness.
