"I don't need the aid of a clever man to teach me how to live," said Isabel. "I can find it out for myself."
"To live alone, do you mean? I wish that when you have found that out, you would teach me."
Isabel glanced at him a moment; then, with a quick smile—"Oh, you ought to marry!" she said.
Poor Caspar may be pardoned if for an instant this exclamation seemed to him to have the infernal note, and I cannot take upon myself to say that Isabel uttered it in obedience to an impulse strictly celestial. It was a fact, however, that it had always seemed to her that Caspar Goodwood, of all men, ought to enjoy the whole devotion of some tender woman. "God forgive you!" he murmured between his teeth, turning away.
Her exclamation had put her slightly in the wrong, and after a moment she felt the need to right herself. The easiest way to do it was to put her suitor in the wrong. "You do me great injustice—you say what you don't know!" she broke out. "I should not be an easy victim—I have proved it."
"Oh, to me, perfectly."
"I have proved it to others as well." And she paused a moment. "I refused a proposal of marriage last week—what they call a brilliant one."
"I am very glad to hear it," said the young man, gravely.
"It was a proposal that many girls would have accepted; it had everything to recommend it." Isabel had hesitated to tell this story, but now she had begun, the satisfaction of speaking it out and doing herself justice took possession of her. "I was offered a great position and a great fortune—by a person whom I like extremely."
