Her talk with him moreover
pointed to presence of mind; it expressed a kindness so ingenious
and deliberate as to indicate that she was in undisturbed possession
of her faculties. Poor Lord Warburton had moments of bewilderment. She
had discouraged him, formally, as much as a woman could; what business
had she then with such arts and such felicities, above all with such
tones of reparation- preparation? Her voice had tricks of sweetness,
but why play them on him? The others came back; the bare, familiar,
trivial opera began again. The box was large, and there was room for
him to remain if he would sit a little behind and in the dark. He
did so for half an hour, while Mr. Osmond remained in front, leaning
forward, his elbows on his knees, just behind Isabel. Lord Warburton
heard nothing, and from his gloomy corner saw nothing but the clear
profile of this young lady defined against the dim illumination of the
house. When there was another interval no one moved. Mr. Osmond talked
to Isabel, and Lord Warburton kept his corner. He did so but for a
short time, however; after which he got up and bade good-night to
the ladies. Isabel said nothing to detain him, but it didn't prevent
his being puzzled again.
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