She had never been so little pleased with the way he said
"belawng." "He comes from nowhere. He has spent most of his life
in Italy."

"You said in your letter he was American. Hasn't he a native
place?"

"Yes, but he has forgotten it. He left it as a small boy."

"Has he never gone back?"

"Why should he go back?" Isabel asked, flushing all defensively.
"He has no profession."

"He might have gone back for his pleasure. Doesn't he like the
United States?"

"He doesn't know them. Then he's very quiet and very simple--he
contents himself with Italy."

"With Italy and with you," said Mr. Goodwood with gloomy
plainness and no appearance of trying to make an epigram. "What
has he ever done?" he added abruptly.

"That I should marry him? Nothing at all," Isabel replied while
her patience helped itself by turning a little to hardness. "If
he had done great things would you forgive me any better? Give me
up, Mr. Goodwood; I'm marrying a perfect nonentity. Don't try to
take an interest in him. You can't."