She looked at him a moment; then with a quick smile, ‘Oh, you ought to marry!’ she said.

He might be pardoned if for an instant this exclamation seemed to him to sound the infernal note, and it is not on record that her motive for discharging such a shaft had been of the clearest. He oughtn’t to stride about lean and hungry, however—she certainly felt that for him. ‘God forgive you!’ he murmured between his teeth as he turned away.

Her accent had put her slightly in the wrong, and after a moment she felt the need to right herself. The easiest way to do it was to place him where she had been. ‘You do me great injustice—you say what you don’t know!’ she broke out. ‘I shouldn’t be an easy victim—I’ve proved it.’

‘Oh, to me, perfectly.’

‘I’ve proved it to others as well.’ And she paused a moment. ‘I refused a proposal of marriage last week; what they call—no doubt—a dazzling one.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said the young man gravely.

‘It was a proposal many girls would have accepted; it had everything to recommend it.’ Isabel had not proposed to herself to tell this story, but, now she had begun, the satisfaction of speaking it out and doing herself justice took possession of her. ‘I was offered a great position and a great fortune—by a person whom I like extremely.’

Caspar watched her with intense interest. ‘Is he an Englishman?’

‘He’s an English nobleman,’ said Isabel.

Her visitor received this announcement at first in silence, but at last said: ‘I’m glad he’s disappointed.’

‘Well then, as you have companions in misfortune, make the best of it.’

‘I don’t call him a companion,’ said Caspar grimly.

‘Why not—since I declined his offer absolutely?’

‘That doesn’t make him my companion. Besides, he’s an Englishman.’

‘And pray isn’t an Englishman a human being?’ Isabel asked.

‘Oh, those people? They’re not of my humanity, and I don’t care what becomes of them.’

‘You’re very angry,’ said the girl. ‘We’ve discussed this matter quite enough.’

‘Oh yes, I’m very angry. I plead guilty to that!’

She turned away from him, walked to the open window and stood a moment looking into the dusky void of the street, where a turbid gaslight alone represented social animation. For some time neither of these young persons spoke; Caspar lingered near the chimneypiece with eyes gloomily attached. She had virtually requested him to go—he knew that; but at the risk of making himself odious he kept his ground. She was too nursed a need to be easily renounced, and he had crossed the sea all to wring from her some scrap of a vow. Presently she left the window and stood again before him. ‘You do me very little justice—after my telling you what I told you just now. I’m sorry I told you—since it matters so little to you.’

‘Ah,’ cried the young man, ‘if you were thinking of me when you did it!’ And then he paused with the fear that she might contradict so happy a thought.