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‘She doesn’t write to me in the same way; it’s easy to see
there’s a difference. If you know anything,’ Miss Stackpole
went on, ‘I should like to hear it beforehand, so as to decide
on the line I shall take.’
The Countess thrust out her under lip and gave a gradual
shrug. ‘I know very little; I see and hear very little of Os-
mond. He doesn’t like me any better than he appears to like
you.’
‘Yet you’re not a lady correspondent,’ said Henrietta pen-
sively.
‘Oh, he has plenty of reasons. Nevertheless they’ve in-
vited me-I’m to stay in the house!’ And the Countess smiled
almost fiercely; her exultation, for the moment, took little
account of Miss Stackpole’s disappointment.
This lady, however, regarded it very placidly. ‘I shouldn’t
have gone if she had asked me. That is I think I shouldn’t;
and I’m glad I hadn’t to make up my mind. It would have
been a very difficult question. I shouldn’t have liked to turn
away from her, and yet I shouldn’t have been happy under
her roof. A pension will suit me very well. But that’s not
all.’
‘Rome’s very good just now,’ said the Countess; ‘there are
all sorts of brilliant people. Did you ever hear of Lord War-
burton?’
‘Hear of him? I know him very well. Do you consider
him very brilliant?’ Henrietta enquired.
‘I don’t know him, but I’m told he’s extremely grand sei-
gneur. He’s making love to Isabel.’
‘Making love to her?’

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