he world too perfect for you."

"Do you think I'm so good?"

"No, but you're exacting, all the same, without the excuse of thinking
yourself good. Nineteen women out of twenty, however, even of the most
exacting sort, would have managed to do with Warburton. Perhaps you
don't know how he has been stalked."

"I don't wish to know. But it seems to me," said Isabel, "that one day
when we talked of him you mentioned odd things in him." Ralph smokingly
considered. "I hope that what I said then had no weight with you;
for they were not faults, the things I spoke of: they were simply
peculiarities of his position. If I had known he wished to marry you I'd
never have alluded to them. I think I said that as regards that position
he was rather a sceptic. It would have been in your power to make him a
believer."

"I think not. I don't understand the matter, and I'm not conscious of
any mission of that sort. You're evidently disappointed," Isabel added,
looking at her cousin with rueful gentleness. "You'd have liked me to
make such a marriage."

"Not in the least. I'm absolutely without a wish on the subject. I don't
pretend to advise you, and I content myself with watching you--with the
deepest interest."

She gave rather a conscious sigh. "I wish I could be as interesting to
myself as I am to you!"

"There you're not candid again; you're extremely interesting to
yourself. Do you know, however," said Ralph, "that if you've really
given Warburton his final answer I'm rather glad it has been what it
was. I don't mean I'm glad for you, and still less of course for him.
I'm glad for myself."

"Are you thinking of proposing to me?"

"By no means. From the point of view I speak of that would be fatal;
I should kill the goose that supplies me with the material of my
inimitable omelettes. I use that animal as the symbol of my insane
illusions. What I mean is that I shall have the thrill of seeing what a
young lady does who won't marry Lord Warburton."

"That's what your mother counts upon too," said Isabel.

"Ah, there will be plenty of spectators! We shall hang on the rest of
your career. I shall not see all of it, but I shall probably see the
most interesting years. Of course if you were to marry our friend you'd
still have a career--a very decent, in fact a very brilliant one. But
relatively speaking it would be a little prosaic. It would be definitely
marked out in advance; it would be wanting in the unexpected. You know