Page 801 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

tion.
Isabel was duly diverted, but there was a certain melan-
choly in her view. Henrietta, after all, had confessed herself
human and feminine, Henrietta whom she had hitherto re-
garded as a light keen flame, a disembodied voice. It was
a disappointment to find she had personal susceptibilities,
that she was subject to common passions, and that her inti-
macy with Mr. Bantling had not been completely original.
There was a want of originality in her marrying him-there
was even a kind of stupidity; and for a moment, to Isabel’s
sense, the dreariness of the world took on a deeper tinge. A
little later indeed she reflected that Mr. Bantling himself at
least was original. But she didn’t see how Henrietta could
give up her country. She herself had relaxed her hold of it,
but it had never been her country as it had been Henrietta’s.
She presently asked her if she had enjoyed her visit to Lady
Pensil.
‘Oh yes,’ said Henrietta, ‘she didn’t know what to make
of me.’
‘And was that very enjoyable?’
‘Very much so, because she’s supposed to be a master
mind. She thinks she knows everything; but she doesn’t
understand a woman of my modern type. It would be so
much easier for her if I were only a little better or a little
worse. She’s so puzzled; I believe she thinks it’s my duty to
go and do something immoral. She thinks it’s immoral that
I should marry her brother; but, after all, that isn’t immoral
enough. And she’ll never understand my mixture-never!’
‘She’s not so intelligent as her brother then,’ said Isabel.

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