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perficially obvious, and yielded to the satisfaction of having
refused two ardent suitors in a fortnight. That love of lib-
erty of which she had given Caspar Goodwood so bold a
sketch was as yet almost exclusively theoretic; she had not
been able to indulge it on a large scale. But it appeared to her
she had done something; she had tasted of the delight, if not
of battle, at least of victory; she had done what was truest to
her plan. In the glow of this consciousness the image of Mr.
Goodwood taking his sad walk homeward through the din-
gy town presented itself with a certain reproachful force;
so that, as at the same moment the door of the room was
opened, she rose with an apprehension that he had come
back. But it was only Henrietta Stackpole returning from
her dinner.
Miss Stackpole immediately saw that our young lady had
been ‘through’ something, and indeed the discovery de-
manded no great penetration. She went straight up to her
friend, who received her without a greeting. Isabel’s elation
in having sent Caspar Goodwood back to America presup-
posed her being in a manner glad he had come to see her;
but at the same time she perfectly remembered Henrietta
had had no right to set a trap for her. ‘Has he been here,
dear?’ the latter yearningly asked.
Isabel turned away and for some moments answered
nothing. ‘You acted very wrongly,’ she declared at last.
‘I acted for the best. I only hope you acted as well.’
‘You’re not the judge. I can’t trust you,’ said Isabel.
This declaration was unflattering, but Henrietta was
much too unselfish to heed the charge it conveyed; she

230 The Portrait of a Lady