Page 640 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

Henrietta’s large eyes became immense. ‘Doesn’t know
how to read?
May I put that into my letter?
‘Into your letter?’
‘In the Interviewer. That’s my paper.’
‘Oh yes, if you like; with his name. Are you going to stay
with Isabel?’
Henrietta held up her head, gazing a little in silence at
her hostess. ‘She has not asked me. I wrote to her I was com-
ing, and she answered that she would engage a room for me
at a pension. She gave no reason.’
The Countess listened with extreme interest. ‘The rea-
son’s Osmond,’ she pregnantly remarked.
‘Isabel ought to make a stand,’ said Miss Stackpole. ‘I’m
afraid she has changed a great deal. I told her she would.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it; I hoped she would have her own
way. Why doesn’t my brother like you?’ the Countess in-
genuously added.
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s perfectly welcome not
to like me; I don’t want every one to like me; I should think
less of myself if some people did. A journalist can’t hope to
do much good unless he gets a good deal hated; that’s the
way he knows how his work goes on. And it’s just the same
for a lady. But I didn’t expect it of Isabel.’
‘Do you mean that she hates you?’ the Countess en-
quired.
‘I don’t know; I want to see. That’s what I’m going to
Rome for.’ ‘Dear me, what a tiresome errand!’ the Count-
ess exclaimed.

640 The Portrait of a Lady