"Where should my light have come from? From you?"
"I might have struck a spark or two."
Isabel had drawn off her gloves; she smoothed them out as they lay
upon her knee. The mildness of this movement was accidental, for her
expression was not conciliatory. "You're beating about the bush,
Ralph. You wish to say you don't like Mr. Osmond, and yet you're
afraid."
'Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike'? I'm willing to wound
him, yes-but not to wound you. I'm afraid of you, not of him. If you
marry him it won't be a fortunate way for me to have spoken."
"If I marry him! Have you had any expectation of dissuading me?"
"Of course that seems to you too fatuous."
"No," said Isabel after a little; "it seems to me too touching."
"That's the same thing. It makes me so ridiculous that you pity me."
She stroked out her long gloves again. "I know you've a great
affection for me. I can't get rid of that."
"For heaven's sake don't try. Keep that well in sight. It will
convince you how intensely I want you to do well."
"And how little you trust me!"
There was a moment's silence; the warm noon-tide seemed to listen.
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