He did so but for a short time, however; after which he got up and bade good-night to the ladies.

Isabel said nothing to detain him, but it didn't prevent his being puzzled again.
Why should she mark so one of his values--quite the wrong one--when she would have nothing to do with another, which was quite the right?
He was angry with himself for being puzzled, and then angry for being angry.
Verdi's music did little to comfort him, and he left the theatre and walked homeward, without knowing his way, through the tortuous, tragic streets of Rome, where heavier sorrows than his had been carried under the stars.
"What's the character of that gentleman ?" Osmond asked of Isabel after he had retired.
"Irreproachable--don't you see it ?" "He owns about half England; that's his character," Henrietta remarked.
"That's what they call a free country!" "Ah, he's a great proprietor?
Happy man!" said Gilbert Osmond.
"Do you call that happiness--the ownership of wretched human beings ?" cried Miss Stackpole.

"He owns his tenants and has thousands of them.
It's pleasant to own something, but inanimate objects are enough for me.
I don't insist on flesh and blood and minds and consciences." "It seems to me you own a human being or two," Mr.Bantling suggested jocosely.

"I wonder if Warburton orders his tenants about as you do me." "Lord Warburton's a great radical," Isabel said.

"He has very advanced opinions." "He has very advanced stone walls.