Isabel longed to ask what it was, but dare not.
“Miss Douglas!” she said, with elevated eyebrows, and well-assumed surprise.
“Yes; I inquired for her when I gave my card to the servant.”
“I am sorry there should have been any mistake, Mr. Dredmond,” replied Isabel, smiling sweetly, but inwardly raging, “but the servant must have misunderstood, for he brought your card to me; besides, Miss Douglas is not with us now, she has left.”
“Left! Indeed, I thought she came abroad with you, and intended to return with you,” he said, in great surprise, and beginning to think that all was not right.
“I know nothing as to her intentions, Mr. Dredmond, but we have been pained to discover that Miss Douglas is not trustworthy, and mamma was therefore obliged to dispense with her services.”
The lie stung her tongue, but she remembered his evident admiration of Brownie the night of the opera, and she resolved to disenchant him if possible.
“Not trustworthy!” he exclaimed, aghast.
He would have staked his own honor against hers.
“It is very painful, is it not, Mr. Dredmond, when she appeared so innocent and was so beautiful?” asked Isabel, with a sad smile.