VOLUME II
46. CHAPTER XLVI
(continued)
Lord Warburton had asked leave to bid good-bye to Pansy, but
neither Isabel nor Osmond had made any motion to send for her. He
had the air of giving out that his visit must be short; he sat on
a small chair, as if it were only for a moment, keeping his hat
in his hand. But he stayed and stayed; Isabel wondered what he
was waiting for. She believed it was not to see Pansy; she had an
impression that on the whole he would rather not see Pansy. It
was of course to see herself alone--he had something to say to
her. Isabel had no great wish to hear it, for she was afraid it
would be an explanation, and she could perfectly dispense with
explanations. Osmond, however, presently got up, like a man of
good taste to whom it had occurred that so inveterate a visitor
might wish to say just the last word of all to the ladies. "I've
a letter to write before dinner," he said; "you must excuse me.
I'll see if my daughter's disengaged, and if she is she shall
know you're here. Of course when you come to Rome you'll always
look us up. Mrs. Osmond will talk to you about the English
expedition: she decides all those things."
The nod with which, instead of a hand-shake, he wound up this
little speech was perhaps rather a meagre form of salutation; but
on the whole it was all the occasion demanded. Isabel reflected
that after he left the room Lord Warburton would have no pretext
for saying, "Your husband's very angry"; which would have been
extremely disagreeable to her. Nevertheless, if he had done so,
she would have said: "Oh, don't be anxious. He doesn't hate you:
it's me that he hates!"
It was only when they had been left alone together that her
friend showed a certain vague awkwardness--sitting down in
another chair, handling two or three of the objects that were
near him. "I hope he'll make Miss Osmond come," he presently
remarked. "I want very much to see her."
"I'm glad it's the last time," said Isabel.
"So am I. She doesn't care for me."
"No, she doesn't care for you."
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