Asquith leaned back; he had lost his look of cheerful confidence.
“But it isn’t such a grave matter, after all,” said Isabel, restoring the former tone. “It was a very kind thought of yours, very kind—but you won’t quarrel with me because I can’t come? It will make no difference in your plan for the Calders, surely?”
“I can’t say, I’m sure,” Asquith replied, in an almost petulant manner, strangely at variance with his ordinary tone. He had thrust his hands into his pockets, and was tapping the carpet with his foot.
“What nonsense!” Isabel exclaimed, with growing good humour. “As if you would allow such a scheme to be overthrown just because one of the party failed you! I can suggest half a dozen delightful people who will be happy to go with you.”
“No doubt; but I wanted you.”
“Robert, you are undeniably Oriental; the despotic habit still clings to you. If one swallow doesn’t make a summer, neither does one day’s hunting make an Englishman.”
His countenance cleared.
“Well,” he said, “this is certainly not final. Let us wait till that wedding is over.”
“It is final,” she returned, very positively. “The wedding will not in the least alter things.”
“What then are you going to do?” he asked, with deliberation, gazing at her steadily.