Concerning Isabel Carnaby

by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

"I don't believe that people would be satisfied with manna now-a-days," said Isabel, "they would want something more spicy than angels' food."

"Other times, other mannas," murmured the artist.

Isabel laughed again; and Paul wondered how any man could be such an idiot as to make puns. He did not quite realize that he would have laughed himself if Isabel had not done so, and would have thought Madderley an amusing fellow; but he did not like Isabel's evident amusement at all.

The conversation flowed on pleasantly all through dinner, and everybody was happy except Alice; but the sight of Paul's obvious devotion to Isabel proved a large fly in her ointment. It did not make her wild with jealousy as it would have made some women, nor hard and bitter as it would have made others; it merely reduced her to a humble and pitiful condition of mind, in which she wanted her mother to comfort her—or else another man to make love to her as Paul was making love to Isabel.

It is so easy for a woman to create a new heaven and a new earth for herself—especially the former—out of whatever she may have at hand. She must have a heaven of some kind, however scanty may be the materials wherewith she has to build; just as a little girl must have a doll, if it be only a bundle of rags tied round with a string. But men do not understand this. To them the manufacture of the new heaven and the new earth is not so simple; they cannot so easily sweep away the historical ruins of their past, and erect a fresh fabric upon the old foundations; for men are strong to do—and (still harder task!) to do without. They can live—after a fashion—without a heaven at all; and would rather do so than have a jerry-built edifice made up out of scraps they have not themselves chosen. But to women, poor souls! a heaven of some kind is a necessity of their being; and though the new one may not be formed after their ideal pattern like the old, it is better than nothing, and will probably in the end make them quite as happy.

Therefore Alice, feeling herself left out in the cold when she saw Paul and Isabel together, was in the state of mind that she would have accepted—and actually fallen in love with—Edgar, had he availed himself of these circumstances to propose to her. But poor Edgar had never learnt the art of making slaves out of circumstances. He was a good man and chivalrous, and he always did the right thing—but he invariably chose the wrong time for doing it. Just then he felt particularly tender towards Alice. He saw that she saw how Paul's face softened at the sight of Isabel; and he realized that every sign of affection shown towards Isabel by Paul was a fresh thorn in Alice's path. Edgar argued that if he lost Alice, no other woman could comfort him; and that therefore, Alice having lost Paul, no other man could comfort her. He forgot that love to a man is like health—he can exist after a fashion without it, though he cannot attain to a high standard of happiness; but that love to a woman is like life—she must have it, in some form or another, or else she will die.

It is interesting to notice that the men who happen to be in love, always join the ladies in advance of the others; consequently Paul and Edgar did not sit long over their wine. Paul went straight up to Isabel; and Edgar—with his ready instinct to help anybody who was hurt—asked Alice to come and see a new and rare orchid that was in the conservatory. After they had duly admired the orchid, they sat down beside the cool marble fountain. Edgar longed to take Alice in his arms and kiss her, she looked so pretty and so sorrowful; but instead of that he began to talk about the Sidbury election.

"I shall be sorry if the Tory has got in," he said, "it will vex my father, and I cannot bear to see him disappointed. He spoke at Sidbury last week, and made such a capital speech."

"Did he?" said Alice. She was wondering whether Paul would have loved her if she had been as clever as Isabel.

"But though it grieves me to see him disappointed," continued Edgar, "I am afraid it will some day be my duty to disappoint him more than any one. It will nearly break my heart, and yet I fear I shall be obliged to do it."