that she would consult
Mr Owen himself. It would, she thought, be easy,--or if not easy at
any rate feasible,--to make him understand that there could be no
marriage. With him she would be on her own ground. He, at least,
had no authority over her, and she knew herself well enough to be
confident of her own strength. Her father had a certain right to
insist. Even her stepmother had a deputed right. But her lover had
none. He should be made to understand that she would not marry
him,--and then he could advise her as to that project of being
governess, housemaid, schoolmistress, or what not.

On the following morning he came, and was soon closeted with her.
When he arrived, Isabel was sitting with Mrs Brodrick and her
sisters, but they soon packed up their hemmings and sewings, and took
themselves off, showing that it was an understood thing that Isabel
and Mr Owen were to be left together. The door was no sooner closed
than he came up to her, as though to embrace her, as though to put
an arm round her waist before she had a moment to retreat, preparing
to kiss her as though she were already his own. She saw it all in a
moment. It was as though, since her last remembered interview, there
had been some other meeting which she had forgotten,--some meeting at
which she had consented to be his wife. She could not be angry with
him. How can a girl be angry with a man whose love is so good, so
true? He would not have dreamed of kissing her had she stood there
before him the declared heiress of Llanfeare. She felt more than
this. She was sure by his manner that he knew that she had determined
not to take her cousin's money. She was altogether unaware that
there had already been some talking that morning between him and her
father; but she was sure that he knew. How could she be angry with
him?

But she escaped. "No, not that," she said. "It must not be so, Mr
Owen;--it must not. It cannot be so."

"Tell me one thing, Isabel, before we go any further, and tell me
truly. Do you love me?"

She was standing about six feet from him, and she looked hard into
his face, determined not to blush before his eyes for a moment. But
she could hardly make up her mind as to what would be the fitting
answer to his demand.

"I know," said he, "that you are too proud to tell me a falsehood."

"I will not tell you a falsehood."

"Do you love me?" There was still a pause. "Do you love me as a woman
should love the man she means to marry?"