Isabella had gone out, they told me, but as she had taken neither hat nor gloves, the servants opined that she could not be far away. I went in search, and found her in the beech wood. She had taken her morning letters there, and read them as she walked, her dress stirring the dead leaves. She did not hear my footstep until I was close upon her.
"Ah! have you come to tell me that Lucille and Alphonse are engaged?" she asked, without even bidding me good morning. In her eyes, usually quiet and reserved, there was a look of great expectancy.
"No."
She folded her letters slowly, and as we walked side by side her quiet eyes came slantwise to my face in a searching glance. She asked no other question, however, and left the burthen of the silence with me. There was a rustic seat near to us, and with one accord we went to it and sat down. Isabella seemed to be breathless, I know not why, and her bodice was stirred by the rapidity of her breathing. I noticed again that my old playmate was prettier than I had ever suspected—a strongly-built woman, upright and of a fine, graceful figure.
"Don't beat about the bush," John Turner had advised, and I remembered his words now.
"Isabella," I said, awkwardly enough, as I stirred the dead leaves with my whip, "Isabella, do you know the terms of my father's will?"
She did not answer at once, and, glancing in her direction, I saw that she had flushed like a schoolgirl.
"ISABELLA," I SAID, AWKWARDLY ENOUGH, AS I STIRRED THE DEAD LEAVES WITH MY WHIP, "ISABELLA, DO YOU KNOW THE TERMS OF MY FATHER'S WILL?" SHE DID NOT ANSWER AT ONCE, AND, GLANCING IN HER DIRECTION, I SAW THAT SHE HAD FLUSHED LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL.
"Yes," she answered at length.