Chapter 50 - Page 2

great blocks of travertine--the latent colour that is the
only living element in the immense ruin. Here and there wandered
a peasant or a tourist, looking up at the far sky-line where, in
the clear stillness, a multitude of swallows kept circling and
plunging. Isabel presently became aware that one of the other
visitors, planted in the middle of the arena, had turned his
attention to her own person and was looking at her with a certain
little poise of the head which she had some weeks before perceived
to be characteristic of baffled but indestructible purpose. Such
an attitude, to-day, could belong only to Mr. Edward Rosier; and
this gentleman proved in fact to have been considering the
question of speaking to her. When he had assured himself that she
was unaccompanied he drew near, remarking that though she would
not answer his letters she would perhaps not wholly close her
ears to his spoken eloquence. She replied that her stepdaughter
was close at hand and that she could only give him five minutes;
whereupon he took out his watch and sat down upon a broken block.

"It's very soon told," said Edward Rosier. "I've sold all my
bibelots!" Isabel gave instinctively an exclamation of horror; it
was as if he had told her he had had all his teeth drawn. "I've
sold them by auction at the Hotel Drouot," he went on. "The sale
took place three days ago, and they've telegraphed me the result.
It's magnificent."

"I'm glad to hear it; but I wish you had kept your pretty things."

"I have the money instead--fifty thousand dollars. Will Mr. Osmond
think me rich enough now?"

"Is it for that you did it?" Isabel asked gently.

"For what else in the world could it be? That's the only thing I
think of. I went to Paris and made my arrangements. I couldn't
stop for the sale; I couldn't have seen them going off; I think
it would have killed me. But I put them into good hands, and they
brought high prices. I should tell you I have kept my enamels.
Now I have the money in my pocket, and he can't say I'm poor!"
the young man exclaimed defiantly.

"He'll say now that you're not wise," said Isabel, as if Gilbert
Osmond had never said this before.

Rosier gave her a sharp look. "Do you mean that without my
bibelots I'm nothing? Do you mean they were the best thing about
me? That's what they told me in Paris; oh they were very frank
about it. But they hadn't seen HER!"

"My dear friend, you deserve to succeed," said Isabel very
kindly.

"You say that so sadly that it's the same as if you said I
shouldn't." And he questioned her eyes with the clear trepidation
of his own. He had the air of a man who knows he has been the
talk of Paris for a week and is full half a head taller