You
say you don't know me, but when you do you'll discover what a
worship I have for propriety."
"You're not conventional?" Isabel gravely asked.
"I like the way you utter that word! No, I'm not conventional: I'm
convention itself. You don't understand that?" And he paused a moment,
smiling. "I should like to explain it." Then with a sudden, quick,
bright naturalness, "Do come back again," he pleaded. "There are so
many things we might talk about."
She stood there with lowered eyes. "What service did you speak of
just now?"
"Go and see my little daughter before you leave Florence. She's
alone at the villa; I decided not to send her to my sister, who hasn't
at all my ideas. Tell her she must love her poor father very much,"
said Gilbert Osmond gently.
"It will be a great pleasure to me to go," Isabel answered. "I'll
tell her what you say. Once more good-bye."
On this he took a rapid, respectful leave. When he had gone she
stood a moment looking about her and seated herself slowly and with an
air of deliberation. She sat there till her companions came back, with
folded hands, gazing at the ugly carpet. Her agitation- for it had not
diminished- was very still, very deep.
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