A convivial lunch I hold to be altogether bad, but the worst of
its many evils is that vacillating mind which does not know when
to take its owner off. Silverbridge was on this occasion
determined not to take himself off at all. As it was only lunch
the people must go, and then he would be left with Isabel. But the
vacillation of the others was distressing to him. Mr Lupton went,
and poor Dolly got away apparently without a word. But the
Beeswaxes and the Gotobeds would not go, and the poet sat staring
immovably. In the meantime Silverbridge endeavoured to make the
time pass lightly by talking to Mrs Boncassen. He had been so
determined to accept Isabel with all her adjuncts that he had come
almost to like Mrs Boncassen, and would certainly have taken her
part violently had anyone spoke ill of her in his presence.
Then suddenly he found that the room was almost empty. The
Beeswaxes and the Gotobeds were gone, and at last the poet
himself, with a final glare of admiration at Isabel, had taken his
departure. When Silverbridge looked round, Isabel was also gone.
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