‘Poor Mr Goodwood!’ Ralph sighed.

‘Her only idea seems to be to get rid of him,’ Henrietta went on.

‘Poor Mr Goodwood!’ Ralph repeated. The exclamation, it must be confessed, was automatic; it failed exactly to express his thoughts, which were taking another line.

‘You don’t say that as if you felt it. I don’t believe you care.’

‘Ah,’ said Ralph, ‘you must remember that I don’t know this interesting young man—that I’ve never seen him.’

‘Well, I shall see him, and I shall tell him not to give up. If I didn’t believe Isabel would come round,’ Miss Stackpole added—‘well, I’d give up myself. I mean I’d give her up!’