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‘I think you’re fond of him,’ said Ralph with a certain
shy pleasure in his face. ‘You appreciate him, which all the
world hasn’t done. The quality’s too fine.’
‘I quite adore him,’ Isabel after a moment said.
‘That’s very well. After his son he’s your greatest admir-
er.’
She welcomed this assurance, but she gave secretly a
small sigh of relief at the thought that Mr. Touchett was one
of those admirers who couldn’t propose to marry her. This,
however, was not what she spoke; she went on to inform
Ralph that there were other reasons for her not remaining
in London. She was tired of it and wished to leave it; and
then Henrietta was going away—going to stay in Bedford-
shire.
‘In Bedfordshire?’
‘With Lady Pensil, the sister of Mr. Bantling, who has an-
swered for an invitation.’
Ralph was feeling anxious, but at this he broke into a
laugh. Suddenly, none the less, his gravity returned. ‘Bant-
ling’s a man of courage. But if the invitation should get lost
on the way?’
‘I thought the British post-office was impeccable.’
‘The good Homer sometimes nods,’ said Ralph. ‘Howev-
er,’ he went on more brightly, ‘the good Bantling never does,
and, whatever happens, he’ll take care of Henrietta.’
Ralph went to keep his appointment with Sir Matthew
Hope, and Isabel made her arrangements for quitting
Pratt’s Hotel. Her uncle’s danger touched her nearly, and
while she stood before her open trunk, looking about her

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