Concessions occasionally mollify. But Isabel made hers so abruptly, so flippantly that it seemed as if she threw up the battle not conscientiously, but because she no longer thought it worth the trouble of fighting. Irritation swept over Kingston at being thus cheated like a child--played with, flouted, and put by as soon as the game had begun to weary the older player. His little victory lost all its satisfaction. He attributed his exasperation entirely to the impudent frivolity of Isabel and not at all to any underlying eagerness and enjoyment that he might have been beginning to develop in the dialogue. Outraged reasonableness swelled his demeanour as he turned in silence and led the way towards the Castle. Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm. ‘Do be friends,’ said Isabel softly and earnestly. ‘We have been friends for such ages in the past, I expect, that it would be a pity to begin badly in the present. I am only a barbarian, not a venomous toad. So do be friends.’ ‘Do you really want to be?’ asked Kingston abruptly. ‘Yes,’ said Isabel--‘yes,’ she repeated slowly, as if surprised at herself. ‘Soberly and seriously?’ inquired her cousin. ‘I mean, is it a thing you honestly want? I thought you cared about nobody’s opinion.’ ‘I didn’t,’ she answered, ‘and I don’t. And yet just this I do care for. I want you to be friends with me. In my heart I am friends with you already--greater friends than I could ever have believed. Why should I be, why should I want to be? I have no idea. Well, what do you say?’ ‘Yes, if you will,’ replied Kingston. ‘Why shouldn’t we be friends? We count as cousins.’ ‘You don’t like me yet, of course,’ said Isabel calmly. ‘But, then, nobody does at first. All I want is that you shouldn’t be hostile and stick out bristles and resist. The rest will come.’ Kingston’s consciousness was in a whirl. He knew that he thoroughly disliked this saucer-eyed, eager creature. Everything she said and did aroused in him pulses of animosity so keen as to be almost physical. On the other hand, in some strange way, she allured, fascinated, excited him. She led his instincts captive, while his judgment went charging down upon her undaunted. Irritating though she might be, she was neither stodgy nor boring. His mind seemed to pringle under her influence, fiercely yet thrillingly, like a numb, constricted limb awakening from its sleep. Compared to Gundred, she was as brandy to milk. Of course Kingston loved the milk and loathed the brandy. But loathsome though it might be, he could not deny that the brandy was more potent, more stirring, more exciting than the milk. Since the brandy was forcing itself into his cup, there was no need to throw it roughly away; he might sip, under protest, now and then, without danger of contracting any disloyal craving for brandy instead of milk. ‘Very well,’ he said; ‘let us be friends, Isabel. One can’t control one’s love or liking. But everything comes to those who wait. So we will be friends.’