She was alone, and looked up at his entrance with a smile of welcome. "Come and sit down, Stumpy! I've seen nothing of you. Dinah has only just left me. She tells me Eustace is talking of a picnic for to-morrow, but really she ought to give her mind to her trousseau if she is ever to be ready in time. Do you think Eustace can be induced to see reason?"
"I don't know," Scott said. He seated himself by Isabel's side and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes.
"You are tired," she said gently.
"Oh, only a little, Isabel!" He spoke without moving, making no effort to veil his weariness from her.
"What is it, dear?" she said.
"I am very anxious about Dinah." He spoke the words deliberately; his face remained absolutely still and expressionless.
"Anxious, Stumpy!" Isabel echoed the word quickly, almost as though it gave her relief to speak. "Oh, so am I—terribly anxious. She is so young, so utterly unprepared for marriage. I believe she is frightened to death when she lets herself stop to think."
"I blame myself," Scott said heavily.
"My dear, why?" Isabel's hand sought and held his. "How could you be to blame?"
"I forced it on," he said. "I—in a way—compelled Eustace to propose. He wasn't serious till then. I made him serious."