Isabel made no reply; the sense of Henrietta Stackpole＇s treachery, as she momentarily qualified it, was strong within her. "Henrietta＇s certainly not a model of all the delicacies!" she exclaimed with bitterness. "It was a great liberty to take."
"I suppose I＇m not a model either—of those virtues or of any others. The fault＇s mine as much as hers."
As Isabel looked at him it seemed to her that his jaw had never been more square. This might have displeased her, but she took a different turn. "No, it＇s not your fault so much as hers. What you＇ve done was inevitable, I suppose, for you."