"I don't know."
She looked at him, and seemed to take a resolve.
"Yes, I do."
"Have I said something that has vexed you? Are you vexed at my writing to Isaacson to tell him about our happiness?"
"Not vexed, no. But somehow it seems to take off the edge of it a little. But men don't understand such things, so it's no use talking of it."
"But I want to understand everything. You see, Isaacson is my friend. Isn't it natural that I should let him know of my happiness?"
"Oh, yes, I suppose so. Never mind. What does it matter?"
"You dislike my having written to him?"
"I'm a fool, Nigel—that's the truth. I'm afraid of everything and everybody."
"Afraid! You're surely not afraid of Isaacson?"