Fear at length overcame fascination.
“I must go and have a look at that new bay,” he murmured. “You—you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Clarendon? Ah, here’s Rose! Don’t you notice how very warm it is, my dear?”
“Rose,” said Mrs. Clarendon, when the colonel had made his escape at quick time, “come here and answer me a rude question. Don’t be shocked; it’s something I do so want to know. How did the colonel”—she lowered her voice, her eyes were gleaming with fun—“how did the colonel propose to you?”
“My dear,” was the reply, given in a humorous whisper, “I did it myself.”
On another occasion, Colonel Stratton came into the room when Isabel was reading. She just noticed his presence, but did not seem inclined to talk, had, in fact, a shadow on her brow. The colonel observed this, by side glances. He moved about a little, and somehow managed to get behind her chair. Then, tapping her on the shoulder—it was his habit with male acquaintances, and he was probably unconscious of the act—he said, in a low voice but with much energy:
“It’s a damned shame! A damned shame!” He had disappeared when Isabel turned to look at him.
She was not quite well that day, or something troubled her. After lunch she went to her own room, and, when she had sat for some time unoccupied, took from her writing-case a letter which she had written the day before. It was to Ada. As she glanced over it, some painful emotion possessed her.
“I can’t send it! I am ashamed!” Her lips uttered the words which she had spoken only to herself.
She crumpled the sheet, and threw it into the fire.
She dined alone, and, a little later, Mrs. Stratton came to sit with her. After various talk, Mrs. Stratton said: