d."

"Don't make me out too old," Isabel patiently answered. "You come back
to that very often, and I've never denied it. But I must tell you that,
old friends as we are, if you had done me the honour to ask me to marry
you I should have refused you on the spot."

"Ah, you don't esteem me then. Say at once that you think me a mere
Parisian trifler!"

"I esteem you very much, but I'm not in love with you. What I mean by
that, of course, is that I'm not in love with you for Pansy."

"Very good; I see. You pity me--that's all." And Edward Rosier looked
all round, inconsequently, with his single glass. It was a revelation to
him that people shouldn't be more pleased; but he was at least too proud
to show that the deficiency struck him as general.

Isabel for a moment said nothing. His manner and appearance had not the
dignity of the deepest tragedy; his little glass, among other things,
was against that. But she suddenly felt touched; her own unhappiness,
after all, had something in common with his, and it came over her, more
than before, that here, in recognisable, if not in romantic form,
was the most affecting thing in the world--young love struggling with
adversity. "Would you really be very kind to her?" she finally asked in
a low tone.

He dropped his eyes devoutly and raised the little flower that he held
in his fingers to his lips. Then he looked at her. "You pity me; but
don't you pity HER a little?"

"I don't know; I'm not sure. She'll always enjoy life."

"It will depend on what you call life!" Mr. Rosier effectively said.
"She won't enjoy being tortured."

"There'll be nothing of that."

"I'm glad to hear it. She knows what she's about. You'll see."

"I think she does, and she'll never disobey her father. But she's coming
back to me," Isabel added, "and I must beg you to go away."

Rosier lingered a moment till Pansy came in sight on the arm of her
cavalier; he stood just long enough to look her in the face. Then he
walked away, holding up his head; and the manner in which he achieved
this sacrifice to expediency convinced Isabel he was very much in love.

Pansy, who seldom got disarranged in dancing, looking perfectly fresh
and cool after this exercise, waited a moment and then took back her
bouquet. Isabel watched her and saw she was counting the flowers;
whereupon she said to herself that decidedly there were deeper forces at
play than she had recognised. Pansy had seen Rosier turn away, but sh