"Quite right, Isobel," Allan said quietly. "There are great issues before you, and you should live with them for a little while. Do not decide anything hastily!"
Arthur pressed forward to her side.
"You will give me your hand, Isobel?" he pleaded. "You will say good-night?"
She gave it to him passively. He raised it to his lips. It was his active pronouncement of himself as her suitor. I watched her closely, and so did Allan. But she gave no sign. She held out her hand to us, too—a cold, sad little hand it felt—and turned away. There was something curiously subdued about her movements as well as her silence as she passed out of sight.
Arthur took up his hat. He was nervous and uneasy. His tone was almost threatening.
"I shall be here early in the morning," he said. "I suppose you will allow me to see Isobel?"
"By all means," I answered. "As things are now you need not go away unless you like. Your room is still empty. Our compact is at an end. Stay if you will."
He hesitated for a moment, and then threw down his hat. He sank into an easy chair, and covered his face with his hands.
"I've been a beast, I know!" he half sobbed. "I can't help it. Isobel is everything in the world to me. You fellows can't imagine how I care for her."
I laid my hand upon his shoulder—a little wearily, perhaps, though I tried to infuse some sympathy into my tone.