"So you decided to come?" she said as she put out her hand.
"Yes, I came last night and called this afternoon at your hotel. They told me you had come here, and I looked about for you."
"The others are inside," she decided to say.
"I didn＇t come for the others," he promptly returned.
She looked away; Lord Warburton was watching them; perhaps he had heard this. Suddenly she remembered it to be just what he had said to her the morning he came to Gardencourt to ask her to marry him. Mr. Osmond＇s words had brought the colour to her cheek, and this reminiscence had not the effect of dispelling it. She repaired any betrayal by mentioning to each companion the name of the other,and fortunately at this moment Mr. Bantling emerged from the choir, cleaving the crowd with British valour and followed by Miss Stackpole and Ralph Touchett.I say fortunately, but this is perhaps a super昀cial view of the matter; since on perceiving the gentleman from Florence Ralph Touchett appeared to take the case as not committing him to joy. He didn＇t hang back,however, from civility, and presently observed to Isabel, with due benevolence, that she would soon have all her friends about her. Miss Stackpole had met Mr. Osmond in Florence, but she had already found occasion to say to Isabel that she liked him no better than her other admirers—than Mr. Touchett and Lord Warburton, and even than little Mr. Rosier in Paris. "I don＇t know what it＇s in you," she had been pleased to remark, "but for a nice girl you do attract the most unnatural people. Mr. Goodwood＇s the only one I＇ve any respect for, and he＇s just the one you don＇t appreciate."