Page 795 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

it was not in the power of the multitude that pressed about
him to make him yield an inch of the ground he had taken-
that of abstracting himself discreetly while the two ladies
performed their embraces.
‘There’s Mr. Bantling,’ said Isabel, gently, irrelevantly,
scarcely caring much now whether she should find her maid
or not.
‘Oh yes, he goes everywhere with me. Come here, Mr.
Bantling!’ Henrietta exclaimed. Whereupon the gallant
bachelor advanced with a smile-a smile tempered, however,
by the gravity of the occasion.
‘Isn’t it lovely she has come?’ Henrietta asked. ‘He knows
all about it,’ she added; ‘we had quite a discussion. He said
you wouldn’t, I said you would.’
‘I thought you always agreed,’ Isabel smiled in return.
She felt she could smile now; she had seen in an instant, in
Mr. Bantling’s brave eyes, that he had good news for her.
They seemed to say he wished her to remember he was an
old friend of her cousin-that he understood, that it was all
right. Isabel gave him her hand; she thought of him, extrav-
agantly, as a beautiful blameless knight.
‘Oh, I always agree,’ said Mr. Bantling. ‘But she doesn’t,
you know.’
‘Didn’t I tell you that a maid was a nuisance?’ Henrietta
enquired.
‘Your young lady has probably remained at Calais.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Isabel, looking at Mr. Bantling, whom
she had never found so interesting.
‘Stay with her while I go and see,’ Henrietta commanded,

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