My wife was watching for me, Juliet fashion, from the window of her turret chamber, and, as soon as she caught sight of my horse entering the park, flew down to meet me in the hall.
“Why did you stay away so long, Clide? Mrs. de Winton ‘sent me her compliments to know if I wouldn't like to go and see the [pg 613] dairy’; but I didn't like. I was afraid it was just an excuse to get me all to herself and scold me. I knew I was naughty this morning, and you may scold me as much as you like; but I won't be scolded by anybody else.” And nestling up to me in her childlike way, Isabel laid her cheek on my shoulder, and looked up at me with two eyes that would have melted a judge and won from any twelve men in England an unhesitating verdict of—innocent as a babe unborn. Linking her arm in mine, and whispering all the way as if we were a pair of lovers stealing a clandestine interview, she carried me off to her boudoir. Then, when we were safe in the room, she turned the key in the door, and began to skip and dance about like an emancipated kitten, giving me chase round the room, clapping hands and laughing and singing in frantic merriment. We kept up this impromptu game of puss-in-the-corner till she was fairly tired out and allowed herself to be taken prisoner and held in durance vile on my knee, while she panted for breath, and shook back her hair, that had slipped from its imprisoning pins, and fell in long, black ripples down her shoulders. Thinking the moment opportune, “Now, my darling,” I said, “let us have a quiet little talk together. How are we to make it straight with the dowager? It won't do to have her suspect my dear little dove of not being as good and as sweet-tempered as I know her to be, and I'm afraid that silly pout at breakfast has put you in a false light with her.”
Isabel said nothing for a moment, but went on shaking her curls.
“Do you wish me to go and beg her pardon?” she said at last. “I will, if you like, Clide.”
“My angel! no. I doubt the wisdom of that,” I replied, laughing at the naïveté of the proposal. “It would be better if we took some more practical means of pacifying her. Suppose we give in about asking down these two old friends of mine?”
“Very well. I will do anything you like, Clide,” she answered indifferently, rolling a curl on her two fingers, and not looking up at me.
“The admiral is the jolliest old tar in the world,” I continued, “and will never talk a word of politics or business, or anything you don't care about; and as to Sir Simon, my only fear is that you will fall in love with him, and some fine morning elope after him, or with him if he stays long enough. He's the most unmerciful lady-killer in the three kingdoms.”
“Is he?”
This was said in a sort of absent way, as if she had been only listening with one ear to what I was saying; all her thoughts were intent on the curling operation, that was again recommenced and completed for the tenth time.
“Then shall I tell Mrs. de Winton that we will ask them both for Wednesday—till Saturday, say? If you like them, it s very easy to renew the invitation.”