Ralph opened his eyes; he even blushed a little--his blush being the sign of an emotion somewhat acute. He remembered that Isabel, in separating from him in Winchester Square, had repudiated his suggestion that her motive in doing so was the expectation of a visitor at Pratt’s Hotel, and it was a new pang to him to have to suspect her of duplicity. On the other hand, he quickly said to himself, what concern was it of his that she should have made an appointment with a lover? Had it not been thought graceful in every age that young ladies should make a mystery of such appointments? Ralph gave Miss Stackpole a diplomatic answer. “I should have thought that, with the views you expressed to me the other day, this would satisfy you perfectly.” “That he should come to see her? That was very well, as far as it went. It was a little plot of mine; I let him know that we were in London, and when it had been arranged that I should spend the evening out I sent him a word--the word we just utter to the ‘wise.’ I hoped he would find her alone; I won’t pretend I didn’t hope that you’d be out of the way. He came to see her, but he might as well have stayed away.” “Isabel was cruel?”--and Ralph’s face lighted with the relief of his cousin’s not having shown duplicity. “I don’t exactly know what passed between them. But she gave him no satisfaction--she sent him back to America.” “Poor Mr. Goodwood!” Ralph sighed. “Her only idea seems to be to get rid of him,” Henrietta went on. “Poor Mr. Goodwood!” Ralph repeated. The exclamation, it must be confessed, was automatic; it failed exactly to express his thoughts, which were taking another line. “You don’t say that as if you felt it. I don’t believe you care.” “Ah,” said Ralph, “you must remember that I don’t know this interesting young man--that I’ve never seen him.” “Well, I shall see him, and I shall tell him not to give up. If I didn’t believe Isabel would come round,” Miss Stackpole added--“well, I’d give up myself. I mean I’d give _her_ up!” CHAPTER XVIII