I don't mean twenty times, but once, comfortably," Isabel added, smiling kindly.

"You're not rich enough for Pansy." "She doesn't care a straw for one's money." "No, but her father does." "Ah yes, he has proved that!" cried the young man.
Isabel got up, turning away from him, leaving her old lady without ceremony; and he occupied himself for the next ten minutes in pretending to look at Gilbert Osmond's collection of miniatures, which were neatly arranged on a series of small velvet screens.

But he looked without seeing; his cheek burned; he was too full of his sense of injury.

It was certain that he had never been treated that way before; he was not used to being thought not good enough.

He knew how good he was, and if such a fallacy had not been so pernicious he could have laughed at it.