“I’m glad it’s the last time,” said Isabel.
“So am I. She doesn’t care for me.”
“No, she doesn’t care for you.”
“I don’t wonder at it,” he returned. Then he added with inconsequence: “You’ll come to England, won’t you?”
“I think we had better not.”
“Ah, you owe me a visit. Don’t you remember that you were to have come to Lockleigh once, and you never did?”
“Everything’s changed since then,” said Isabel.
“Not changed for the worse, surely—as far as we’re concerned. To see you under my roof”—and he hung fire but an instant—“would be a great satisfaction.”
She had feared an explanation; but that was the only one that occurred. They talked a little of Ralph, and in another moment Pansy came in, already dressed for dinner and with a little red spot in either cheek. She shook hands with Lord Warburton and stood looking up into his face with a fixed smile—a smile that Isabel knew, though his lordship probably never suspected it, to be near akin to a burst of tears.
“I’m going away,” he said. “I want to bid you good-bye.”