Isabel had ceased to limp, but still dwelt upon the shock and its
lingering effects. She amused herself in her own way, reading paper-
covered novels, feasting upon chocolates, teasing Mr. Boffin, and
playing solitaire. Madame remarked to Rose that Isabel seemed to have a
cosmic sense of time.
The guest never came down-stairs till luncheon was announced, and did
not trouble herself to make an elaborate, or even appropriate toilet.
Madame began to wonder how long Isabel intended to remain and to see the
wisdom of the modern fashion of appointing the hour of departure in the
invitation.
Yet, as she said to herself rather grimly, she would have invited Isabel
to remain through the Summer, and perhaps, in the early Autumn she might
return to town of her own accord. Moreover, there appeared to be no
graceful way of requesting an invited guest to leave.
Though Madame was annoyed by the mere fact of Isabel's presence, she had
ceased to distress Rose, who dwelt now in a world apart from the others.
She spent her afternoons at the other house, playing softly downstairs,
reading to Allison, or talking to him of the brilliant future that she
insisted was to be his.
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