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‘Henrietta Stackpole,’ she asked, ‘are you going to give up
your country?’
‘Yes, my poor Isabel, I am. I won’t pretend to deny it; I
look the fact in the face. I’m going to marry Mr. Bantling
and locate right here in London.’
‘It seems very strange,’ said Isabel, smiling now.
‘Well yes, I suppose it does. I’ve come to it little by little.
I think I know what I’m doing; but I don’t know as I can
explain.’
‘One can’t explain one’s marriage,’ Isabel answered. ‘And
yours doesn’t need to be explained. Mr. Bantling isn’t a rid-
dle.’
‘No, he isn’t a bad pun-or even a high flight of American
humour. He has a beautiful nature,’ Henrietta went on. ‘I’ve
studied him for many years and I see right through him.
He’s as clear as the style of a good prospectus. He’s not in-
tellectual, but he appreciates intellect. On the other hand he
doesn’t exaggerate its claims. I sometimes think we do in
the United States.’
‘Ah,’ said Isabel, ‘you’re changed indeed! It’s the first time
I’ve ever heard you say anything against your native land.’
‘I only say that we’re too infatuated with mere brain-
power; that, after all, isn’t a vulgar fault. But I am changed;
a woman has to change a good deal to marry.’
‘I hope you’ll be very happy. You will at last-over here-see
something of the inner life.’
Henrietta gave a little significant sigh. ‘That’s the key to
the mystery, I believe. I couldn’t endure to be kept off. Now
I’ve as good a right as any one!’ she added with artless ela-

800 The Portrait of a Lady