"I see."
"Yet I was not altogether base," Isabel went on; "I love you in a restful, prosaic kind of way; and I thought that that would be enough, and that the sort of love I had given to Paul was a dream of the past which I could never dream again. But I was wrong. My love for Paul Seaton is no half-forgotten vision, but the strongest thing in me; and I cannot marry any other man."
"My darling, I quite understand," said Lord Wrexham; "it was only natural that a dull man like myself should fail to win your love. You could not help it any more than I could, so we are neither of us to blame."
Isabel shook her head. "It was not that; it had nothing to do with you. Whatever you had been, it would have made no difference. You were not Paul, and that was all that mattered to me."
"But Mr. Seaton is a clever man and a very brilliant writer," said Lord Wrexham generously, though he took care to use the prefix Mr.
"That has nothing to do with it either. He is clever, I admit, and kind and good; but so are scores of other men that I have known. I cannot tell you why I love him so much. I only know that to me he is the only man in the whole world, and always will be."
"My dear, I hope you will be very happy with him." And the kind voice trembled.
"Oh! no, there is no chance of that. I have offended him past all forgiveness. Please don't think I have broken off my engagement with you because I am going to marry my old lover. I shall not marry anybody, but shall count as one of society's failures; and people will pity me as they see me growing old all by myself. Yet I shall not be altogether hard and bitter, because I have tasted what love is like; and having once tasted it (even though I dashed the cup from my lips with my own hands) I can never drink of any other. But, oh! Wrexham, how can I ever forgive myself for having hurt you?" And then Isabel's torrent of words was stopped by a torrent of tears.
Lord Wrexham rose from his chair and laid his hand on her bowed head. "My dear, there must never be any question of forgiveness between you and me, for I was yours to do what you liked with. We both made a mistake—you in thinking that you could be content with me, and I in dreaming that I could make you happy. But if ever you get tired of growing old alone, remember that there are always one man's heart and hand waiting for you, if you should choose to take them."
And before Isabel could answer him he was gone.