Will you, please?"
Isabel's flushed face took on the expression of outraged virtue. "I
don't know why I should be expected to lie," she remarked evasively,
with a subtle change of manner.
Madame Bernard cleared her throat. "Your love was a lie," she said, in a
tone that neither of them had ever heard her use before. "One more won't
matter."
Isabel fidgeted in her chair and nervously tapped the edge of her plate
with her fork. "I haven't heard anybody say," she began, with the air of
one scoring a fine point, "that his father doesn't love him, and yet he
hasn't gone near him--hasn't even seen him since we were hurt. If
Colonel Kent can stay away from him, I don't know why I can't."
The argument seemed unanswerable, for neither Madame nor Rose spoke.
They sat with averted eyes until the silence became oppressive, and
Isabel, with ostentatious difficulty, pushed back her chair and limped
painfully out of the room.
When she had locked her own door, she was more at ease, and began to
survey her unpleasant situation. Nobody seemed to consider her at all--
it was only Allison, and everything and everybody, apparently, must be
sacrificed for him.
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