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to which the usual fare of life seemed unsalted. Henrietta,
on the other hand, enjoyed the society of a gentleman who
appeared somehow, in his way, made, by expensive, round-
about, almost ‘quaint’ processes, for her use, and whose
leisured state, though generally indefensible, was a decided
boon to a breathless mate, and who was furnished with an
easy, traditional, though by no means exhaustive, answer
to almost any social or practical question that could come
up. She often found Mr. Bantling’s answers very convenient,
and in the press of catching the American post would large-
ly and showily address them to publicity. It was to be feared
that she was indeed drifting toward those abysses of sophis-
tication as to which Isabel, wishing for a good-humoured
retort, had warned her. There might be danger in store for
Isabel; but it was scarcely to be hoped that Miss Stackpole,
on her side, would find permanent rest in any adoption
of the views of a class pledged to all the old abuses. Isabel
continued to warn her good-humouredly; Lady Pensil’s
obliging brother was sometimes, on our heroine’s lips, an
object of irreverent and facetious allusion. Nothing, how-
ever, could exceed Henrietta’s amiability on this point; she
used to abound in the sense of Isabel’s irony and to enumer-
ate with elation the hours she had spent with this perfect
man of the world—a term that had ceased to make with her,
as previously, for opprobrium. Then, a few moments later,
she would forget that they had been talking jocosely and
would mention with impulsive earnestness some expedi-
tion she had enjoyed in his company. She would say: ‘Oh,
I know all about Versailles; I went there with Mr. Bantling.

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