She had had no hidden motive in wishing him not to take her home; it simply struck her that for some days past she had consumed an indordinate quantity of his time, and the independent spirit of the American girl whom extravagance of aid places in an attitude that she ends by finding affected had made her decide that for these few hours she must suffice to herself. She had moreover a great fondness for intervals of solitude, which since her arrival in England had been but meagrely met. It was a luxury she could always command at home and she had wittingly missed it. That evening, however, an incident occurred whichhad there been a critic to note itwould have taken all colour from the theory that the wish to be quite by herself had caused her to dispense with her cousins attendance. Seated toward nine oclock in the dim illumination of Pratts Hotel and trying with the aid of two tall candles to lose herself in a volume she had brought from Gardencourt, she succeeded only to the extent of reading other words than those printed on the pagewords that Ralph had spoken to her that afternoon. Suddenly the well- muffled knuckle of the waiter was applied to the door, which presently gave way to his exhibition, even as a glorious trophy, of the card of a visitor. When this memento had offered to her fixed sight the name of Mr Caspar Goodwood she let the man stand before her without signifying her wishes.
Shall I show the gentleman up, maam? he asked with a slightly encouraging inflexion.
Isabel hesitated still and while she hesitated glanced at the mirror. He may come in, she said at last; and waited for him not so much smoothing her hair as girding her spirit.
Caspar Goodwood was accordingly the next moment shaking hands with her, but saying nothing till the servant had left the room. Why didnt you answer my letter? he then asked in a quick, full, slightly peremptory tonethe tone of a man whose questions were habitually pointed and who was capable of much insistence.
She answered by a ready question, How did you know I was here?
Miss Stackpole let me know, said Caspar Goodwood. She told me you would probably be at home alone this evening and would be willing to see me.
Where did she see youto tell you that?
She didnt see me; she wrote to me.
Isabel was silent; neither had sat down; they stood there with an air of defiance, or at least of contention. Henrietta never told me she was writing to you, she said at last. This is not kind of her.
Is it so disagreeable to you to see me? asked the young man.
I didnt expect it. I dont like such surprises.
But you knew I was in town; it was natural we should meet.
Do you call this meeting? I hoped I shouldnt see you. In so big a place as London it seemed very possible.
It was apparently repugnant to you even to write to me, her visitor went on.
Isabel made no reply; the sense of Henrietta Stackpoles treachery, as she momentarily qualified it, was strong within her. Henriettas certainly not a model of all the delicacies! she exclaimed with bitterness. It was a great liberty to take.
I suppose Im not a model eitherof those virtues or of any others. The faults mine as much as hers.
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