Ada seemed about to rise, but turned it off in an arrangement of her dress.
“When Mr. Asquith told you something from me a month ago,” Isabel continued, “did it occur to you that I had any motive in—in choosing just that time, in letting you know those things just when I did?”
Ada had fixed a keen and curious look on the speaker, a look which was troublesome in its intensity.
“I supposed,” was her measured reply, “that you thought I had come to the age when I ought to know something of the future that was before me.”
“Yes, that is true. You will credit me, will you not, with a desire to save you from being at a disadvantage?”
“Certainly.”
The word was rather ironically spoken.
“You perhaps think I ought to have told you sooner?”
“I have had that thought.”
“On the other hand, you do not forget that nothing obliged me to tell you for another year and a half.”