“Many,” Isabel returned, “in a way.”
“It must be strange to have so many acquaintances. It gives you the sense of belonging to the world; you do not stand on the outside and look on.”
“In a theatre—watching from an uncomfortable back seat? The stage is open to you.”
“And the parts? Even if I were cast, think of my poor memory. The words are so hard, so artificial. At most I could play the walking gentleman, and in truth I have no mind for that.”
Isabel smiled, as if involuntarily, and, after glancing round the room, quitted her seat.
“A friend is coming in a day or two to stay with me,” she said; “not a mere acquaintance, but really a friend. I should like you to meet her: you won’t refuse?”
He looked at her and hesitated.
“You can’t help liking Mrs. Stratton. She has been my nearest friend for years.”
“I may be gone,” Kingcote said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Gone? But you have no intention of leaving?”