What he would say to her-that was the
interesting issue. It could be nothing in the least soothing-she had
warrant for this, and the conviction doubtless showed in the cloud
on her brow. For the rest, however, all clearness reigned in her;
she had put away her mourning and she walked in no small shimmering
splendour. She only felt older-ever so much, and as if she were "worth
more" for it, like some curious piece in an antiquary's collection.
She was not at any rate left indefinitely to her apprehensions, for
a servant at last stood before her with a card on his tray. "Let the
gentleman come in," she said, and continued to gaze out of the
window after the footman had retired. It was only when she had heard
the door close behind the person who presently entered that she looked
round.
Caspar Goodwood stood there- stood and received a moment, from
head to foot, the bright, dry gaze with which she rather withheld than
offered a greeting. Whether his sense of maturity had kept pace with
Isabel's we shall perhaps presently ascertain; let me say meanwhile
that to her critical glance he showed nothing of the injury of time.
Straight, strong and hard, there was nothing in his appearance that
spoke positively either of youth or of age; if he had neither
innocence nor weakness, so he had no practical philosophy.
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