Caspar watched her with intense interest. "Is he an Englishman?"
"He's an English nobleman," said Isabel.
Her visitor received this announcement at first in silence, but at last said: "I'm glad he's
disappointed."
"Well then, as you have companions in misfortune, make the best of it."
"I don't call him a companion," said Casper grimly.
"Why not--since I declined his offer absolutely?"
"That doesn't make him my companion. Besides, he's an Englishman."
"And pray isn't an Englishman a human being?" Isabel asked.
"Oh, those people They're not of my humanity, and I don't care what becomes of them."
"You're very angry," said the girl. "We've discussed this matter quite enough."
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"Oh yes, I'm very angry. I plead guilty to that!"
She turned away from him, walked to the open window and stood a moment looking into the
dusky void of the street, where a turbid gaslight alone represented social animation. For some time
neither of these young persons spoke; Caspar lingered near the chimney-piece with eyes gloomily
attached. She had virtually requested him to go--he knew that; but at the risk of making himself
odious he kept his ground. She was far too dear to him to be easily renounced, and he had crossed
the sea all to wring from her some scrap of a vow. Presently she left the window and stood again
before him. "You do me very little justice-- after my telling you what I told you just now. I'm sorry
I told you--since it matters so little to you."
"Ah," cried the young man, "if you were thinking of ME when you did it!" And then he paused
with the fear that she might contradict so happy a thought.
"I was thinking of you a little," said Isabel.
"A little? I don't understand. If the knowledge of what I feel for you had any weight with you at all,
calling it a 'little' is a poor account of it."
Isabel shook her head as if to carry off a blunder. "I've refused a most kind, noble gentleman.
Make the most of that."
"I thank you then," said Caspar Goodwood gravely. "I thank you immensely."
"And now you had better go home."
"May I not see you again?" he asked.
"I think it's better not. You'll be sure to talk of this, and you see it leads to nothing."
"I promise you not to say a word that will annoy you."
Isabel reflected and then answered: "I return in a day or two to my uncle's, and I can't propose to
you to come there. It would be too inconsistent."
Caspar Goodwood, on his side, considered. "You must do me justice too. I received an invitation
to your uncle's more than a week ago, and I declined it."
She betrayed surprise. "From whom was your invitation?"
"From Mr. Ralph Touchett, whom I suppose to be your cousin. I declined it because I had not your
authorisation to accept it. The suggestion that Mr. Touchett should invite me appeared to have
come from Miss Stackpole."
"It certainly never did from me. Henrietta really goes very far," Isabel added.
"Don't be too hard on her--that touches ME."
"No; if you declined you did quite right, and I thank you for it." And she gave a little shudder of
dismay at the thought that Lord Warburton and Mr. Goodwood might have met at Gardencourt: it
would have been so awkward for Lord Warburton.
"When you leave your uncle where do you go?" her companion asked.
"I go abroad with my aunt--to Florence and other places."
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The serenity of this announcement struck a chill to the young man's heart; he seemed to see her
whirled away into circles from which he was inexorably excluded. Nevertheless he went on
quickly with his questions. "And when shall you come back to America?"
"Perhaps not for a long time. I'm very happy here."
"Do you mean to give up your country?"
"Don't be an infant!"
"Well, you'll be out of my sight indeed!" said Caspar Goodwood.
"I don't know," she answered rather grandly. "The world--with all these places so arranged and so
touching each other--comes to strike one as rather small."
"It's a sight too big for ME!" Caspar exclaimed with a simplicity our young lady might have found
touching if her face had not been set against concessions.
This attitude was part of a system, a theory, that she had lately embraced, and to be thorough she
said after a moment: "Don't think me unkind if I say it's just THAT--being out of your sight-- that I
like. If you were in the same place I should feel you were watching me, and I don't like that--I like
my liberty too much. If there's a thing in the world I'm fond of," she went on with a slight
recurrence of grandeur, "it's my personal independence."
But whatever there might be of the too superior in this speech moved Caspar Goodwood's
admiration; there was nothing he winced at in the large air of it. He had never supposed she hadn't
wings and the need of beautiful free movements--he wasn't, with his own long arms and strides,
afraid of any force in her. Isabel's words, if they had been meant to shock him, failed of the mark
and only made him smile with the sense that here was common ground. "Who would wish less to
curtail your liberty than I? What can give me greater pleasure than to see you perfectly
independent--doing whatever you like? It's to make you independent that I want to marry you."
"That's a beautiful sophism," said the girl with a smile more beautiful still.
"An unmarried woman--a girl of your age--isn't independent. There are all sorts of things she can't
do. She's hampered at every step."
"That's as she looks at the question," Isabel answered with much spirit. "I'm not in my first youth-
I can do what I choose--I belong quite to the independent class. I've neither father nor mother; I'm
poor and of a serious disposition; I'm not pretty. I therefore am not bound to be timid and
conventional; indeed I can't afford such luxuries. Besides, I try to judge things for myself; to judge
wrong, I think, is more honourable than not to judge at all. I don't wish to be a mere sheep in the
flock; I wish to choose my fate and know something of human affairs beyond what other people
think it compatible with propriety to tell me." She paused a moment, but not long enough for her
companion to reply. He was apparently on the point of doing so when she went on: "Let me say
this to you, Mr. Goodwood. You're so kind as to speak of being afraid of my marrying. If you
should hear a rumour that I'm on the point of doing so--girls are liable to have such things said
about them--remember what I have told you about my love of liberty and venture to doubt it."
There was something passionately positive in the tone in which she gave him this advice, and he
saw a shining candour in her eyes that helped him to believe her. On the whole he felt reassured,
and you might have perceived it by the manner in which he said, quite eagerly: "You want simply
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to travel for two years? I'm quite willing to wait two years, and you may do what you like in the
interval. If that's all you want, pray say so. I don't want you to be conventional; do I strike you as
conventional myself? Do you want to improve your mind? Your mind's quite good enough for me;
but if it interests you to wander about a while and see different countries I shall be delighted to
help you in any way in my power."
"You're very generous; that's nothing new to me. The best way to help me will be to put as many
hundred miles of sea between us as possible."
"One would think you were going to commit some atrocity!" said Caspar Goodwood.
"Perhaps I am. I wish to be free even to do that if the fancy takes me."
"Well then," he said slowly, "I'll go home." And he put out his hand, trying to look contented and
confident.
Isabel's confidence in him, however, was greater than any he could feel in her. Not that he thought
her capable of committing an atrocity; but, turn it over as he would, there was something ominous
in the way she reserved her option. As she took his hand she felt a great respect for him; she knew
how much he cared for her and she thought him magnanimous. They stood so for a moment,
looking at each other, united by a hand-clasp which was not merely passive on her side. "That's
right," she said very kindly, almost tenderly. "You'll lose nothing by being a reasonable man."
"But I'll come back, wherever you are, two years hence," he returned with characteristic grimness.
We have seen that our young lady was inconsequent, and at this she suddenly changed her note.
"Ah, remember, I promise nothing-- absolutely nothing!" Then more softly, as if to help him to
leave her: "And remember too that I shall not be an easy victim!"
"You'll get very sick of your independence."
"Perhaps I shall; it's even very probable. When that day comes I shall be very glad to see you."
She had laid her hand on the knob of the door that led into her room, and she waited a moment to
see whether her visitor would not take his departure. But he appeared unable to move; there was
still an immense unwillingness in his attitude and a sore remonstrance in his eyes. "I must leave
you now," said Isabel; and she opened the door and passed into the other room.
This apartment was dark, but the darkness was tempered by a vague radiance sent up through the
window from the court of the hotel, and Isabel could make out the masses of the furniture, the dim
shining of the mirror and the looming of the big four-posted bed. She stood still a moment,
listening, and at last she heard Caspar Goodwood walk out of the sitting-room and close the door
behind him. She stood still a little longer, and then, by an irresistible impulse, dropped on her
knees before her bed and hid her face in her arms.
CHAPTER XVII
She was not praying; she was trembling--trembling all over. Vibration was easy to her, was in fact
too constant with her, and she found herself now humming like a smitten harp. She only asked,
however, to put on the cover, to case herself again in brown holland, but she wished to resist her
excitement, and the attitude of devotion, which she kept for some time, seemed to help her to be
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still. She intensely rejoiced that Caspar Goodwood was gone; there was something in having thus
got rid of him that was like the payment, for a stamped receipt, of some debt too long on her mind.
As she felt the glad relief she bowed her head a little lower; the sense was there, throbbing in her
heart; it was part of her emotion, but it was a thing to be ashamed of--it was profane and out of
place. It was not for some ten minutes that she rose from her knees, and even when she came back
to the sitting-room her tremor had not quite subsided. It had had, verily, two causes: part of it was
to be accounted for by her long discussion with Mr. Goodwood, but it might be feared that the rest
was simply the enjoyment she found in the exercise of her power. She sat down in the same chair
again and took up her book, but without going through the form of opening the volume. She leaned
back, with that low, soft, aspiring murmur with which she often uttered her response to accidents
of which the brighter side was not superficially obvious, and yielded to the satisfaction of having
refused two ardent suitors in a fortnight. That love of liberty of which she had given Caspar
Goodwood so bold a sketch was as yet almost exclusively theoretic; she had not been able to
indulge it on a large scale. But it appeared to her she had done something; she had tasted of the
delight, if not of battle, at least of victory; she had done what was truest to her plan. In the glow of
this consciousness the image of Mr. Goodwood taking his sad walk homeward through the dingy
town presented itself with a certain reproachful force; so that, as at the same moment the door of
the room was opened, she rose with an apprehension that he had come back. But it was only
Henrietta Stackpole returning from her dinner.
Miss Stackpole immediately saw that our young lady had been "through" something, and indeed
the discovery demanded no great penetration. She went straight up to her friend, who received her
without a greeting. Isabel's elation in having sent Caspar Goodwood back to America presupposed
her being in a manner glad he had come to see her; but at the same time she perfectly remembered
Henrietta had had no right to set a trap for her. "Has he been here, dear?" the latter yearningly
asked.
Isabel turned away and for some moments answered nothing. "You acted very wrongly," she
declared at last.
"I acted for the best. I only hope you acted as well."
"You're not the judge. I can't trust you," said Isabel.
This declaration was unflattering, but Henrietta was much too unselfish to heed the charge it
conveyed; she cared only for what it intimated with regard to her friend. "Isabel Archer," she
observed with equal abruptness and solemnity, "if you marry one of these people I'll never speak to
you again!"
"Before making so terrible a threat you had better wait till I'm asked," Isabel replied. Never having
said a word to Miss Stackpole about Lord Warburton's overtures, she had now no impulse
whatever to justify herself to Henrietta by telling her that she had refused that nobleman.
"Oh, you'll be asked quick enough, once you get off on the Continent. Annie Climber was asked
three times in Italy--poor plain little Annie."
"Well, if Annie Climber wasn't captured why should I be?"
"I don't believe Annie was pressed; but you'll be."
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"That's a flattering conviction," said Isabel without alarm.
"I don't flatter you, Isabel, I tell you the truth!" cried her friend. "I hope you don't mean to tell me
that you didn't give Mr. Goodwood some hope."
"I don't see why I should tell you anything; as I said to you just now, I can't trust you. But since
you're so much interested in Mr. Goodwood I won't conceal from you that he returns immediately
to America."
"You don't mean to say you've sent him off?" Henrietta almost shrieked.
"I asked him to leave me alone; and I ask you the same, Henrietta." Miss Stackpole glittered for an
instant with dismay, and then passed to the mirror over the chimney-piece and took off her bonnet.
"I hope you've enjoyed your dinner," Isabel went on.
But her companion was not to be diverted by frivolous propositions. "Do you know where you're
going, Isabel Archer?"
"Just now I'm going to bed," said Isabel with persistent frivolity.
"Do you know where you're drifting?" Henrietta pursued, holding out her bonnet delicately.
"No, I haven't the least idea, and I find it very pleasant not to know. A swift carriage, of a dark
night, rattling with four horses over roads that one can't see--that's my idea of happiness."
"Mr. Goodwood certainly didn't teach you to say such things as that--like the heroine of an
immoral novel," said Miss Stackpole. "You're drifting to some great mistake."
Isabel was irritated by her friend's interference, yet she still tried to think what truth this
declaration could represent. She could think of nothing that diverted her from saying: "You must
be very fond of me, Henrietta, to be willing to be so aggressive."
"I love you intensely, Isabel," said Miss Stackpole with feeling,
"Well, if you love me intensely let me as intensely alone. I asked that of Mr. Goodwood, and I
must also ask it of you."
"Take care you're not let alone too much."
"That's what Mr. Goodwood said to me. I told him I must take the risks."
"You're a creature of risks--you make me shudder!" cried Henrietta. "When does Mr. Goodwood
return to America?"
"I don't know--he didn't tell me."
"Perhaps you didn't enquire," said Henrietta with the note of righteous irony.
"I gave him too little satisfaction to have the right to ask questions of him."
This assertion seemed to Miss Stackpole for a moment to bid defiance to comment; but at last she
exclaimed: "Well, Isabel, if I didn't know you I might think you were heartless!"
"Take care," said Isabel; "you're spoiling me."
"I'm afraid I've done that already. I hope, at least," Miss Stackpole added, "that he may cross with
Annie Climber!"
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Isabel learned from her the next morning that she had determined not to return to Gardencourt
(where old Mr. Touchett had promised her a renewed welcome), but to await in London the arrival
of the invitation that Mr. Bantling had promised her from his sister Lady Pensil. Miss Stackpole
related very freely her conversation with Ralph Touchett's sociable friend and declared to Isabel
that she really believed she had now got hold of something that would lead to something. On the
receipt of Lady Pensil's letter--Mr. Bantling had virtually guaranteed the arrival of this document-she
would immediately depart for Bedfordshire, and if Isabel cared to look out for her impressions
in the Interviewer she would certainly find them. Henrietta was evidently going to see something
of the inner life this time.
"Do you know where you're drifting, Henrietta Stackpole?" Isabel asked, imitating the tone in
which her friend had spoken the night before.
"I'm drifting to a big position--that of the Queen of American Journalism. If my next letter isn't
copied all over the West I'll swallow my penwiper!"
She had arranged with her friend Miss Annie Climber, the young lady of the continental offers,
that they should go together to make those purchases which were to constitute Miss Climber's
farewell to a hemisphere in which she at least had been appreciated; and she presently repaired to
Jermyn Street to pick up her companion. Shortly after her departure Ralph Touchett was
announced, and as soon as he came in Isabel saw he had something on his mind. He very soon took
his cousin into his confidence. He had received from his mother a telegram to the effect that his
father had had a sharp attack of his old malady, that she was much alarmed and that she begged he
would instantly return to Gardencourt. On this occasion at least Mrs. Touchett's devotion to the
electric wire was not open to criticism.
"I've judged it best to see the great doctor, Sir Matthew Hope, first," Ralph said; "by great good
luck he's in town. He's to see me at half-past twelve, and I shall make sure of his coming down to
Gardencourt--which he will do the more readily as he has already seen my father several times,
both there and in London. There's an express at two-forty-five, which I shall take; and you'll come
back with me or remain here a few days longer, exactly as you prefer."
"I shall certainly go with you," Isabel returned. "I don't suppose I can be of any use to my uncle,
but if he's ill I shall like to be near him."
"I think you're fond of him," said Ralph with a certain shy pleasure in his face. "You appreciate
him, which all the world hasn't done. The quality's too fine."
"I quite adore him," Isabel after a moment said.
"That's very well. After his son he's your greatest admirer." She welcomed this assurance, but she
gave secretly a small sigh of relief at the thought that Mr. Touchett was one of those admirers who
couldn't propose to marry her. This, however, was not what she spoke; she went on to inform
Ralph that there were other reasons for her not remaining in London. She was tired of it and
wished to leave it; and then Henrietta was going away-- going to stay in Bedfordshire.
"In Bedfordshire?"
"With Lady Pensil, the sister of Mr. Bantling, who has answered for an invitation."
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Ralph was feeling anxious, but at this he broke into a laugh. Suddenly, none the less, his gravity
returned. "Bantling's a man of courage. But if the invitation should get lost on the way?"
"I thought the British post-office was impeccable."
"The good Homer sometimes nods," said Ralph. "However," he went on more brightly, "the good
Bantling never does, and, whatever happens, he'll take care of Henrietta."
