"I think not," I answered.
"Do you not want to send her your love?" she asked, with a faint smile.
"Of course," I said slowly.
She leaned a little over towards me.
"Mr. Greatson," she said, "do you know what I should want you to do if I were Isobel—what I am quite sure that she must want you to do now?"
"Tell me!"
"Why, marry her! She would be quite safe then, wouldn't she?"
I tried to smile in a non-committal sort of way, but I am afraid there were things in my face beyond my power to control.
"You forget," I answered. "I am thirty-four, and Isobel is only eighteen. Besides, there is someone else who wants to marry Isobel. He is young, and they have been great friends always. I think that she is fond of him."
She shook her head doubtfully.