“I knew you would,” she returned, with a nod and an ambiguous smile. “And your friend, Gabriel?” “No. I told you I should not. My sister is different.” “Yes. Why should you not tell her? And you showed her my portrait?” “I did.” “What did she say?” “Many kind and pleasant things--things you would have liked to hear.” “Are you sure of that?” “You don’t dislike to be praised.” “No, on the whole I think not. But I could do with the praises of just one person--they would be enough.” “I may repeat your question--are you sure of that?” “Very sure. But you will come on Sunday?” “At what time? I thought you went to church.” “Only in the morning. We shall dine at eight o’clock.” “And will there only be Mr. Meres?” “Only one other--a lady.” Kingcote looked about him restlessly. “How long shall you stay in London?” was his next question. “Not more than two months, I think.” “Two months--May, June. It will seem long.” “Long? Seem long to you?” “Yes.” “Are you not glad that I am nearer to you?” “Very glad. But I wish it were November, with no one else in town, I suppose you will be surrounded with people all the time.” “No, I shall see very few,” she answered, rather coldly. “I should wish, if I can, to please you.” There was a struggle in him between obstinate jealousy and self-denial. She looked at him, with a half-suppressed smile about her lips, and the nobler feeling for the moment had its way. “You will best please me,” he said, with the old tenderness, “by pleasing yourself. You shall see nothing of my foolishness, even if I can’t altogether overcome it; and I will try my hardest to do that, for my own peace indeed. I will bury myself in books.” Isabel was seeking for words to express what was in her mind. “You see,” she began at length, “I can’t entirely isolate myself, even if I would. People find out that I am in town, and I cannot forbid them to come and see me. If they come, then I am bound to make calls in return, or to accept invitations.” “Yes, I understand it perfectly well,” he assented, with a little too much of readiness. “It would be monstrous to ask you to live in solitude. Indeed, I will accept it all without murmuring.” “All that I can do I will. I promise you not to seek new acquaintances, and I will see no more of the old than I am absolutely obliged. You can trust me so far? It is rather hard to feel that you have not complete confidence in me. I have in you.” “Forgive me, and let us forget that I ever talked so unkindly. I ought to be proud of your successes in society. It would all be easier, I suppose, if----” “If what?” “Only if I valued myself more highly than I can. It is so hard to believe that you can compare me with others and not grow very cold.” “I should never think of comparing you with any one. Why should I? You are apart from all others; I should as soon think of asking whether the sun did really give more light than one or other of the stars.”