"Your fate?"
"I should try to escape it if I were to marry you."
"I don＇t understand. Why should not that be your fate as well as anything else?"
"Because it＇s not," said Isabel femininely. "I know it＇s not. It＇s not my fate to give up—I know it can＇t be."
Poor Lord Warburton stared, an interrogative point in either eye. "Do you call marrying me giving up?"
"Not in the usual sense. It＇s getting—getting—getting a great deal. But it＇s giving up other chances."
"Other chances for what?"
"I don＇t mean chances to marry," said Isabel, her colour quickly coming back to her. And then she stopped, looking down with a deep frown, as if it were hopeless to attempt to make her meaning clear.