"He certainly would not." Scott rose with a restless movement that said more than words. "He is on fire for her. Can't you see it? There is nothing to be done unless she herself wishes to be released. And I don't think that is very likely to happen."
"He would never give her up," Isabel said with conviction.
"If she desired it, he would," Scott's reply held an even more absolute finality.
Isabel looked at him for a moment; then: "Yes, but the poor little thing would never dare," she said. "Besides—besides—there is the glamour of it all."
"Yes, there is the glamour." Scott spoke with a kind of grim compassion.
"The glamour may carry her through. If so, then—possibly—it may soften
life for her afterwards. It may even turn into romance. Who knows?
But—in any case—there will probably be—compensations."
"Ah!" Isabel said. A wonderful light shone for a moment in her eyes and died; she turned her face aside. "Compensations don't come to everyone, Stumpy," she said. "What if the glamour fades and they don't come to take its place?"
Scott was standing before the fire, his eyes fixed upon its red depths. His shoulders were still bent, as though they bore a burden well-nigh overwhelming. An odd little spasm went over his face at her words.
"Then—God help my Dinah!" he said almost under his breath.
In the silence that followed the words, Isabel rose impulsively, came to him, and slipped her hand through his arm.
She neither looked at him nor spoke, and in silence the matter passed.