She turned sickly yellow and her eyes went wild ; they were looking at the downfall of all her schemes and hopes . I did n't look at Mark Foster , at first , and , when I did , there was n't anything to see . His face was just as sallow and wooden as ever ; he looked undersized and common beside Owen . Nobody 'd ever have picked him out for a bridegroom . Owen spoke first . `` I want to see Phillippa , '' he said , as if it were but yesterday that he had gone away . All Isabella 's smoothness and policy had dropped away from her , and the real woman stood there , plotting and unscrupulous , as I 'd always know her . `` You ca n't see her , '' she said desperate-like . `` She does n't want to see you . You went and left her and never wrote , and she knew you were n't worth fretting over , and she has learned to care for a better man . '' `` I DID write and I think you know that better than most folks , '' said Owen , trying hard to speak quiet . `` As for the rest , I 'm not going to discuss it with you . When I hear from Phillippa 's own lips that she cares for another man I 'll believe it -- and not before . '' `` You 'll never hear it from her lips , '' said I. Isabella gave me a venomous look . `` You 'll not see Phillippa until she is a better man 's wife , '' she said stubbornly , `` and I order you to leave my house , Owen Blair ! '' `` No ! '' It was Mark Foster who spoke . He had n't said a word ; but he came forward now , and stood before Owen . Such a difference as there was between them ! But he looked Owen right in the face , quiet-like , and Owen glared back in fury .
`` Will it satisfy you , Owen , if Phillippa comes down here and chooses XXXXX us ? ''
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