please." The room was a sort of boudoir, pervaded by a
subdued, rose-coloured light; a lady and gentleman moved out of it as
our friends came in. "It's very kind of you to take such an interest in
Mr. Rosier," Isabel said.

"He seems to me rather ill-treated. He had a face a yard long. I
wondered what ailed him."

"You're a just man," said Isabel. "You've a kind thought even for a
rival."

Lord Warburton suddenly turned with a stare. "A rival! Do you call him
my rival?"

"Surely--if you both wish to marry the same person."

"Yes--but since he has no chance!"

"I like you, however that may be, for putting your self in his place. It
shows imagination."

"You like me for it?" And Lord Warburton looked at her with an uncertain
eye. "I think you mean you're laughing at me for it."

"Yes, I'm laughing at you a little. But I like you as somebody to laugh
at."

"Ah well, then, let me enter into his situation a little more. What do
you suppose one could do for him?"

"Since I have been praising your imagination I'll leave you to imagine
that yourself," Isabel said. "Pansy too would like you for that."

"Miss Osmond? Ah, she, I flatter myself, likes me already."

"Very much, I think."

He waited a little; he was still questioning her face. "Well then, I
don't understand you. You don't mean that she cares for him?"

A quick blush sprang to his brow. "You told me she would have no wish
apart from her father's, and as I've gathered that he would favour
me--!" He paused a little and then suggested "Don't you see?" through
his blush.

"Yes, I told you she has an immense wish to please her father, and that
it would probably take her very far."

"That seems to me a very proper feeling," said Lord Warburton.

"Certainly; it's a very proper feeling." Isabel remained silent for some
moments; the room continued empty; the sound of the music reached them
with its richness softened by the interposing apartments. Then at last
she said: "But it hardly strikes me as the sort of feeling to which a
man would wish to be indebted for a wife."

"I don't know; if the wife's a good one and he thinks she does well!"

"Yes, of course you must think that."

"I do; I can't help it. You call that very British, of course."

"No, I don't. I think Pansy would do wonderfully well to marry you,
and I don't know who should know it better than you. But you're not in
love."

"Ah, yes I am, Mrs. Osmond!"

Isabel shook her head. "You li