Page 645 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

‘I don’t know what they call it. I thought I had better
come.’
‘She’s very happy-she’s very fortunate,’ the Countess
went on. ‘She has others besides.’ And then she broke out
passionately. ‘She’s more fortunate than I! I’m as unhappy
as she-I’ve a very bad husband; he’s a great deal worse than
Osmond. And I’ve no friends. I thought I had, but they’re
gone. No one, man or woman, would do for me what you’ve
done for her.’
Henrietta was touched; there was nature in this bitter ef-
fusion. She gazed at her companion a moment, and then:
‘Look here, Countess, I’ll do anything for you that you like.
I’ll wait over and travel with you.’
‘Never mind,’ the Countess answered with a quick change
of tone: only describe me in the newspaper!’
Henrietta, before leaving her, however, was obliged to
make her understand that she could give no fictitious rep-
resentation of her journey to Rome. Miss Stackpole was a
strictly veracious reporter. On quitting her she took the way
to the Lung’ Arno, the sunny quay beside the yellow riv-
er where the bright-faced inns familiar to tourists stand all
in a row. She had learned her way before this through the
streets of Florence (she was very quick in such matters), and
was therefore able to turn with great decision of step out
of the little square which forms the approach to the bridge
of the Holy Trinity. She proceeded to the left, toward the
Ponte Vecchio, and stopped in front of one of the hotels
which overlook that delightful structure. Here she drew
forth a small pocket-book, took from it a card and a pencil

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