"I don't know why you say such things. I don't
know what you know."
"I know nothing but what I've guessed. But I've guessed that."
Isabel went to the door and, when she had opened it, stood a
moment with her hand on the latch. Then she said-it was her only
revenge: "I believed it was you I had to thank!"
Madame Merle dropped her eyes; she stood there in a kind of proud
penance. "You're very unhappy, I know. But I'm more so."
"Yes; I can believe that. I think I should like never to see you
again."
Madame Merle raised her eyes. "I shall go to America," she quietly
remarked while Isabel passed out.
CHAPTER 53
It was not with surprise, it was with a feeling which in other
circumstances would have had much of the effect of joy, that as Isabel
descended from the Paris Mail at Charing Cross she stepped into the
arms, as it were-or at any rate into the hands-of Henrietta Stackpole.
She had telegraphed to her friend from Turin, and though she had not
definitely said to herself that Henrietta would meet her, she had felt
her telegram would produce some helpful result. On her long journey
from Rome her mind had been given up to vagueness; she was unable to
question the future.
Pages:
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983