“I don’t know,” Scott said.  He seated himself by Isabel’s side and leaned back against the cushions, closing his eyes.

“You are tired,” she said gently.

“Oh, only a little, Isabel!” He spoke without moving, making no effort to veil his weariness from her.

“What is it, dear?” she said.

“I am very anxious about Dinah.”  He spoke the words deliberately; his face remained absolutely still and expressionless.

“Anxious, Stumpy!” Isabel echoed the word quickly, almost as though it gave her relief to speak.  “Oh, so am I—­terribly anxious.  She is so young, so utterly unprepared for marriage.  I believe she is frightened to death when she lets herself stop to think.”

“I blame myself,” Scott said heavily.

“My dear, why?” Isabel’s hand sought and held his.  “How could you be to blame?”

“I forced it on,” he said.  “I—­in a way—­compelled Eustace to propose.  He wasn’t serious till then.  I made him serious.”

“Oh, Stumpy, you!” Incredulity and reproach mingled in Isabel’s tone.

She would have withdrawn her hand, but his fingers closed upon it.  “I made a mistake,” he said, with dreary conviction, “a great mistake, though God knows I meant well; and now it is out of my power to set it right.  I thought her heart was involved.  I know now it was not.  It’s hard on him too in a way, because he is very much in earnest now, whatever he was before.  I was a fool—­I was a fool—­not to let things take their course.  She would have suffered, but it would have been soon over.  Whereas now—­” He stopped himself abruptly.  “It’s no good talking.  There’s nothing to be done.  He may—­after marriage—­break her in to loving him, but if he does—­if he does—­” his hand clenched with sudden force upon Isabel’s—­“it won’t be Dinah any more,” he said.  “It’ll be—­another woman; one who is satisfied with—­a very little.”

His hand relaxed as suddenly as it had closed.  He lay still with a face like marble.

Isabel sat motionless by his side for several seconds.  She was gazing straight before her with eyes that seemed to read the future.

“How did you compel him to propose?” she asked presently.

He shrugged his narrow shoulders slightly.  “I can do these things, Isabel, if I try.  But I wish I’d killed myself now before I interfered.  As I tell you, I was a fool—­a fool.”

He ceased to speak and sat in the silence of a great despair.

Isabel said nought to comfort him.  Her tragic eyes still seemed to be gazing into the future.

After many minutes Scott turned his head and looked at her.  “Isabel, I wish you would try to keep her with you as much as possible.  Tell Eustace what you have just told me!  There is certainly no time to lose if she is really to be married in three weeks from now!”

“I suppose he would never consent to put it off,” Isabel said slowly.