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Isabel looked at her companion in much wonderment;
it struck her as strange that a nature in which she found so
much to esteem should break down so in spots. ‘My poor
Henrietta,’ she said, ‘you’ve no sense of privacy.’
Henrietta coloured deeply, and for a moment her bril-
liant eyes were suffused, while Isabel found her more than
ever inconsequent. ‘You do me great injustice,’ said Miss
Stackpole with dignity. ‘I’ve never written a word about my-
self!’
‘I’m very sure of that; but it seems to me one should be
modest for others also!’
‘Ah, that’s very good!’ cried Henrietta, seizing her pen
again. ‘Just let me make a note of it and I’ll put it in some-
where.’ She was a thoroughly good-natured woman, and
half an hour later she was in as cheerful a mood as should
have been looked for in a newspaper-lady in want of matter.
‘I’ve promised to do the social side,’ she said to Isabel; ‘and
how can I do it unless I get ideas? If I can’t describe this place
don’t you know some place I can describe?’ Isabel promised
she would bethink herself, and the next day, in conversation
with her friend, she happened to mention her visit to Lord
Warburton’s ancient house. ‘Ah, you must take me there—
that’s just the place for me!’ Miss Stackpole cried. ‘I must get
a glimpse of the nobility.’
‘I can’t take you,’ said Isabel; ‘but Lord Warburton’s com-
ing here, and you’ll have a chance to see him and observe
him. Only if you intend to repeat his conversation I shall cer-
tainly give him warning.’
‘Don’t do that,’ her companion pleaded; ‘I want him to

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