She still shook her head, smiling. Robert reflected for a moment.
“When does this marriage take place?” he asked abruptly.
“Very shortly, I suppose. I have written to Mr. Lacour to request him to make arrangements as soon as he likes. I shall meet him in London on Monday.”
“Good. Then you are absolutely free.”
“I am not free.”
He glanced at her inquiringly.
“I am not free,” Isabel repeated, looking straight before her.
“I suppose I shall be grossly impertinent if I ask what it is that holds you?”
“I cannot now tell you, Robert, but—I must remain in England.”
Her voice had a tremor in it, which she did her best to subdue. She was smiling still, but in a forced, self-conscious way.