least an adventurous spirit. Women are not like men."

Ralph slowly rose from his seat and they walked together to the gate of
the square. "No," he said; "women rarely boast of their courage. Men do
so with a certain frequency."

"Men have it to boast of!"

"Women have it too. You've a great deal."

"Enough to go home in a cab to Pratt's Hotel, but not more."

Ralph unlocked the gate, and after they had passed out he fastened it.
"We'll find your cab," he said; and as they turned toward a neighbouring
street in which this quest might avail he asked her again if he mightn't
see her safely to the inn.

"By no means," she answered; "you're very tired; you must go home and go
to bed."

The cab was found, and he helped her into it, standing a moment at the
door. "When people forget I'm a poor creature I'm often incommoded," he
said. "But it's worse when they remember it!"

CHAPTER XVI

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 inordinate
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 which--had there been a
critic to note it--would have taken all colour from the theory that the
wish to be quite by herself had caused her to dispense with her cousin's
attendance. Seated toward nine o'clock in the dim illumination of
Pratt's 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
page--words that Ralph had spoken to her that afternoon. Suddenly
the well-muffed 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, ma'am?" he asked with a slightly
encouraging inflexion.

Isabel hesitated still and while s