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‘Perhaps you were in a crowded carriage,’ Ralph suggest-
ed.
‘Yes, but it was crowded with friends—a party of Ameri-
cans whose acquaintance I had made upon the steamer; a
lovely group from Little Rock, Arkansas. In spite of that I
felt cramped—I felt something pressing upon me; I couldn’t
tell what it was. I felt at the very commencement as if I were
not going to accord with the atmosphere. But I suppose I
shall make my own atmosphere. That’s the true way—then
you can breathe. Your surroundings seem very attractive.’
‘Ah, we too are a lovely group!’ said Ralph. ‘Wait a little
and you’ll see.
Miss Stackpole showed every disposition to wait and
evidently was prepared to make a considerable stay at Gar-
dencourt. She occupied herself in the mornings with literary
labour; but in spite of this Isabel spent many hours with
her friend, who, once her daily task performed, deprecat-
ed, in fact defied, isolation. Isabel speedily found occasion
to desire her to desist from celebrating the charms of their
common sojourn in print, having discovered, on the second
morning of Miss Stackpole’s visit, that she was engaged on a
letter to the Interviewer, of which the title, in her exquisitely
neat and legible hand (exactly that of the copybooks which
our heroine remembered at school) was ‘Americans and Tu-
dors—Glimpses of Gardencourt.’ Miss Stackpole, with the
best conscience in the world, offered to read her letter to Isa-
bel, who immediately put in her protest.
‘I don’t think you ought to do that. I don’t think you
ought to describe the place.’

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