. . .  “If we meet him at the houses of our friends, we must do what we can not to be discourteous to them if he is their guest.”

. . .  “If we meet Rowan alone anywhere, we must let him know that he is not on the list of our acquaintances any longer.  That is all.”

Isabel wrung her hands.

Mrs. Conyers had more than one of the traits of the jungle:  she knew when to lie silent and how to wait.  She waited longer now, but Isabel had relapsed into her own thoughts.  For her the interview was at an end; to Mrs. Conyers it was beginning.  Isabel’s words and manner had revealed a situation far more serious than she had believed to exist.  A sense of personal slights and wounds gave way to apprehension.  The need of the moment was not passion and resentment, but tact and coolness and apparent unconcern.

“What is the meaning of this, Isabel?” She spoke in a tone of frank and cordial interest as though the way were clear at last for the establishment of complete confidence between them.

“Grandmother, did you not give me your word?” said Isabel, sternly.  Mrs. Conyers grew indignant:  “But remember in what a light you place me!  I did not expect you to require me to be unreasonable and unjust.  Do you really wish me to be kept in the dark in a matter like this?  Must I refuse to speak to Rowan and have no reason?  Close the house to him and not know why?  Cut him in public without his having offended me?  If he should ask why I treat him in this way, what am I to tell him?”

“He will never ask,” said Isabel with mournful abstraction.

“But tell me why you wish me to act so strangely.”

“Believe that I have reasons.”

“But ought I not to know what these reasons are if I must act upon them as though they were my own?”

Isabel saw the stirrings of a mind that brushed away honor as an obstacle and that was not to be quieted until it had been satisfied.  She sank back into her chair, saying very simply with deep disappointment and with deeper sorrow: 

“Ah, I might have known!”

Mrs. Conyers pressed forward with gathering determination: 

“What happened last night?”

“I might have known that it was of no use,” repeated Isabel.

Mrs. Conyers waited several moments and then suddenly changing her course feigned the dismissal of the whole subject:  “I shall pay no attention to this.  I shall continue to treat Rowan as I have always treated him.”

Isabel started up:  “Grandmother, if you do, you will regret it.” 
Her voice rang clear with hidden meaning and with hidden warning.

It fell upon the ear of the other with threatening import.  For her there seemed to be in it indeed the ruin of a cherished plan, the loss of years of hope and waiting.  Before such a possibility tact and coolness and apparent unconcern were swept away by passion, brutal and unreckoning:  “Do you mean that you have refused Rowan?  Or have you found out at last that he has no intention of marrying you—­has never had any?”