CHAPTER XIII.
The Country of Conceit.
Safe screened by hills on either hand
From winter storms and summer heat,
There lies a silly little land—
The Country of Conceit.
One afternoon, not long after Isabel's visit to Chayford, Paul was having tea at the Farleys' house in Prince's Gate; and Lady Esdaile was there also, looking prettier than ever. Paul was feeling particularly happy, as he had done ever since Isabel had made herself at home among his own people; she had fulfilled even his ideal of her, and consequently he was content. He had yet to learn that the fact of a woman's being an angel in May, is no ground for supposing that she will be equally angelic in June—or even angelic at all. Isabel—with her fatal aptitude for taking her tone from her surroundings—was as earthly in London as she had been heavenly at Chayford; that is to say, the outward and visible Isabel was; and poor Paul, with all his love for her, as yet lacked the wisdom to understand her thoroughly. It always seems a pity, with regard to lovemaking, that when people are old enough to have learnt the game properly, they are generally too old to want to play at it. In this respect it is inferior to whist.
"Isn't London adorable just now?" exclaimed Isabel. "Everything is in such a rush that one has not time to think about anything."
"Rather a doubtful advantage, I should say," suggested Paul.
"Not at all. I hate thinking, it makes my head ache," replied Isabel flippantly.
Paul looked surprised and puzzled; was this the same woman who had sat beside him in Chayford Chapel and sung "There is a land of pure delight"? He did not know that Isabel's character was as yet so unformed that she was frightened at the depth of her own feelings, and that this was a feeble protest on her part against an emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Lady Esdaile shook her head. "Mr. Seaton is right; it is shocking not to have time to think. The other day I was actually putting on a gown for the Wallingfords' dinner that I had worn there once before, simply because I was in such a hurry that I had not time to give proper attention to my wardrobe. Fortunately my maid happened to remember in time. But think how awful it would have been if I had worn the same dress at the same house twice in one season!"
"Dreadful!" agreed Isabel. "It is wonderful what an effect clothes have on one's character. Personally I have not the courage to show myself if I do not feel I am suitably attired; a characteristic which I inherit from my first parents."