“Afraid of myself!” she said, getting up. She stood there a moment and then added: “If I were afraid of my husband that would be simply my duty. That’s what women are expected to be.”
“Ah yes,” laughed Ralph; “but to make up for it there’s always some man awfully afraid of some woman!”
She gave no heed to this pleasantry, but suddenly took a different turn. “With Henrietta at the head of your little band,” she exclaimed abruptly, “there will be nothing left for Mr. Goodwood!”
“Ah, my dear Isabel,” Ralph answered, “he’s used to that. There is nothing left for Mr. Goodwood.”
She coloured and then observed, quickly, that she must leave him. They stood together a moment; both her hands were in both of his. “You’ve been my best friend,” she said.
“It was for you that I wanted—that I wanted to live. But I’m of no use to you.”
Then it came over her more poignantly that she should not see him again. She could not accept that; she could not part with him that way. “If you should send for me I’d come,” she said at last.
“Your husband won’t consent to that.”
“Oh yes, I can arrange it.”
“I shall keep that for my last pleasure!” said Ralph.