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any.’
‘Well,’ said Henrietta, ‘you think you can lead a romantic
life, that you can live by pleasing yourself and pleasing oth-
ers. You’ll find you’re mistaken. Whatever life you lead you
must put your soul in it—to make any sort of success of it;
and from the moment you do that it ceases to be romance,
I assure you: it becomes grim reality! And you can’t always
please yourself; you must sometimes please other people.
That, I admit, you’re very ready to do; but there’s another
thing that’s still more important—you must often displease
others. You must always be ready for that—you must never
shrink from it. That doesn’t suit you at all—you’re too fond
of admiration, you like to be thought well of. You think we
can escape disagreeable duties by taking romantic views—
that’s your great illusion, my dear. But we can’t. You must
be prepared on many occasions in life to please no one at
allnot even yourself.’
Isabel shook her head sadly; she looked troubled and
frightened. ‘This, for you, Henrietta,’ she said, ‘must be one
of those occasions!’
It was certainly true that Miss Stackpole, during her visit
to Paris, which had been professionally more remunerative
than her English sojourn, had not been living in the world
of dreams. Mr. Bantling, who had now returned to Eng-
land, was her companion for the first four weeks of her stay;
and about Mr. Bantling there was nothing dreamy. Isabel
learned from her friend that the two had led a life of great
personal intimacy and that this had been a peculiar ad-
vantage to Henrietta, owing to the gentleman’s remarkable

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