On returning to Knightswell, Isabel was Informed that Mr. Robert Asquith had made a call that morning; hearing that she would be back before night he had written on his card that he should wait at the inn in Winstoke, as he wished to see her.
She took the card to the drawing-room, and stood bending it between her fingers, not yet having removed her bonnet. She was thinking very hard; her face had that expression which a woman never wears save when alone; the look of absolute occupation with thoughts in which her whole being is concerned. It ended in her passing to the boudoir, hastily writing a note, and ringing the bell.
“Let this be taken at once,” she said to the servant who appeared. “And tell Hopwood to bring tea upstairs.”
Robert Asquith was pleased to receive a summons to dine, with the information added that his cousin was alone.
At dinner the conversation busied itself with everything save the subject which was uppermost in the minds of both. Isabel was all the more delightful for having to exert herself a little to sustain her gaiety, and Asquith was in unfeigned good spirits. He gave an account of his progress in Anglicisation, related many drily humorous stories.
When the meal was over he said:
“You don’t demand of me that I shall sit in solitary dignity over the claret for-half-an-hour? Is it de rigueur in my quality of English gentleman?”
“Perhaps you would like to smoke?”
“No.”
“In that case come to the drawing-room.”