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‘He’s in wretched health; he’s quite unfit for work,’ Isabel
urged.
‘Pshaw! don’t you believe it. I work when I’m sick,’ cried
her friend. Later, when she stepped into the boat on joining
the water-party, she remarked to Ralph that she supposed he
hated her and would like to drown her.
‘Ah no,’ said Ralph, ‘I keep my victims for a slower tor-
ture. And you’d be such an interesting one!’
‘Well, you do torture me; I may say that. But I shock all
your prejudices; that’s one comfort.’
‘My prejudices? I haven’t a prejudice to bless myself with.
There’s intellectual poverty for you.’
‘The more shame to you; I’ve some delicious ones. Of
course I spoil your flirtation, or whatever it is you call it, with
your cousin; but I don’t care for that, as I render her the ser-
vice of drawing you out. She’ll see how thin you are.’
‘Ah, do draw me out!’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘So few people
will take the trouble.’
Miss Stackpole, in this undertaking, appeared to shrink
from no effort; resorting largely, whenever the opportunity
offered, to the natural expedient of interrogation. On the fol-
lowing day the weather was bad, and in the afternoon the
young man, by way of providing indoor amusement, offered
to show her the pictures. Henrietta strolled through the long
gallery in his society, while he pointed out its principal or-
naments and mentioned the painters and subjects. Miss
Stackpole looked at the pictures in perfect silence, commit-
ting herself to no opinion, and Ralph was gratified by the
fact that she delivered herself of none of the little ready-made

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