Caspar Goodwood gravely. "I thank you
immensely."

"And now you had better go home."

"May I not see you again?" he asked.

"I think it's better not. You'll be sure to talk of this, and you see it
leads to nothing."

"I promise you not to say a word that will annoy you."

Isabel reflected and then answered: "I return in a day or two to my
uncle's, and I can't propose to you to come there. It would be too
inconsistent."

Caspar Goodwood, on his side, considered. "You must do me justice too.
I received an invitation to your uncle's more than a week ago, and I
declined it."

She betrayed surprise. "From whom was your invitation?"

"From Mr. Ralph Touchett, whom I suppose to be your cousin. I declined
it because I had not your authorisation to accept it. The suggestion
that Mr. Touchett should invite me appeared to have come from Miss
Stackpole."

"It certainly never did from me. Henrietta really goes very far," Isabel
added.

"Don't be too hard on her--that touches ME."

"No; if you declined you did quite right, and I thank you for it." And
she gave a little shudder of dismay at the thought that Lord Warburton
and Mr. Goodwood might have met at Gardencourt: it would have been so
awkward for Lord Warburton.

"When you leave your uncle where do you go?" her companion asked.

"I go abroad with my aunt--to Florence and other places."

The serenity of this announcement struck a chill to the young man's
heart; he seemed to see her whirled away into circles from which he was
inexorably excluded. Nevertheless he went on quickly with his questions.
"And when shall you come back to America?"

"Perhaps not for a long time. I'm very happy here."

"Do you mean to give up your country?"

"Don't be an infant!"

"Well, you'll be out of my sight indeed!" said Caspar Goodwood.

"I don't know," she answered rather grandly. "The world--with all these
places so arranged and so touching each other--comes to strike one as
rather small."

"It's a sight too big for ME!" Caspar exclaimed with a simplicity
our young lady might have found touching if her face had not been set
against concessions.

This attitude was part of a system, a theory, that she had lately
embraced, and to be thorough she said after a moment: "Don't think me
unkind if I say it's just THAT--being out of your sight--that I like.
If you were in the same place I should feel you were watching me, and I
don't like that--I like my liberty too much. If the