When he had assured himself that she was unaccompanied
he drew near, remarking that though she would not answer his letters
she would perhaps not wholly close her ears to his spoken eloquence. She
replied that her stepdaughter was close at hand and that she could only
give him five minutes; whereupon he took out his watch and sat down upon
a broken block.

"It's very soon told," said Edward Rosier. "I've sold all my bibelots!"
Isabel gave instinctively an exclamation of horror; it was as if he had
told her he had had all his teeth drawn. "I've sold them by auction at
the Hotel Drouot," he went on. "The sale took place three days ago, and
they've telegraphed me the result. It's magnificent."

"I'm glad to hear it; but I wish you had kept your pretty things."

"I have the money instead--fifty thousand dollars. Will Mr. Osmond think
me rich enough now?"

"Is it for that you did it?" Isabel asked gently.

"For what else in the world could it be? That's the only thing I think
of. I went to Paris and made my arrangements. I couldn't stop for the
sale; I couldn't have seen them going off; I think it would have killed
me. But I put them into good hands, and they brought high prices. I
should tell you I have kept my enamels. Now I have the money in my
pocket, and he can't say I'm poor!" the young man exclaimed defiantly.

"He'll say now that you're not wise," said Isabel, as if Gilbert Osmond
had never said this before.

Rosier gave her a sharp look. "Do you mean that without my bibelots I'm
nothing? Do you mean they were the best thing about me? That's what they
told me in Paris; oh they were very frank about it. But they hadn't seen
HER!"

"My dear friend, you deserve to succeed," said Isabel very kindly.

"You say that so sadly that it's the same as if you said I shouldn't."
And he questioned her eyes with the clear trepidation of his own. He had
the air of a man who knows he has been the talk of Paris for a week and
is full half a head taller in consequence, but who also has a painful
suspicion that in spite of this increase of stature one or two persons
still have the perversity to think him diminutive. "I know what happened
here while I was away," he went on; "What does Mr. Osmond expect after
she has refused Lord Warburton?"

Isabel debated. "That she'll marry another nobleman."

"What other nobleman?"

"One that he'll pick out."

Rosier slowly got up, putting his watch into his waistcoat-pocket.
"You're l