I shall have matured my epistolary style." She looked away while she spoke these words, knowing them of so much less earnest a cast than the countenance of her listener.

Her eyes, however, at last came back to him, just as he said very irrelevantly; "Are you enjoying your visit to your uncle ?" "Very much indeed." She dropped, but then she broke out.

"What good do you expect to get by insisting ?" "The good of not losing you." "You've no right to talk of losing what's not yours.

And even from your own point of view," Isabel added, "you ought to know when to let one alone." "I disgust you very much," said Caspar Goodwood gloomily; not as if to provoke her to compassion for a man conscious of this blighting fact, but as if to set it well before himself, so that he might endeavour to act with his eyes on it.
"Yes, you don't at all delight me, you don't fit in, not in any way, just now, and the worst is that your putting it to the proof in this manner is quite unnecessary." It wasn't certainly as if his nature had been soft, so that pin-pricks would draw blood from it; and from the first of her acquaintance with him, and of her having to defend herself against a certain air that he had of knowing better what was good for her than she knew herself, she had recognised the fact that perfect frankness was her best weapon.

To attempt to spare his sensibility or to escape from him edgewise, as one might do from a man who had barred the way less sturdily--this, in dealing with Caspar Goodwood, who would grasp at everything of every sort that one might give him, was wasted agility.