ully kind,"
said Isabel with a breadth that cost her no effort. It seemed to her she
should never again feel a superficial embarrassment.

Poor Mr. Bantling, however, was still in this inferior stage. He blushed
a good deal and laughed, he assured her that he was often very blue,
and that when he was blue he was awfully fierce. "You can ask Miss
Stackpole, you know. I was at Gardencourt two days ago."

"Did you see my cousin?"

"Only for a little. But he had been seeing people; Warburton had been
there the day before. Ralph was just the same as usual, except that he
was in bed and that he looks tremendously ill and that he can't speak,"
Mr. Bantling pursued. "He was awfully jolly and funny all the same. He
was just as clever as ever. It's awfully wretched."

Even in the crowded, noisy station this simple picture was vivid. "Was
that late in the day?"

"Yes; I went on purpose. We thought you'd like to know."

"I'm greatly obliged to you. Can I go down tonight?"

"Ah, I don't think SHE'LL let you go," said Mr. Bantling. "She wants you
to stop with her. I made Touchett's man promise to telegraph me to-day,
and I found the telegram an hour ago at my club. 'Quiet and easy,'
that's what it says, and it's dated two o'clock. So you see you can wait
till to-morrow. You must be awfully tired."

"Yes, I'm awfully tired. And I thank you again."

"Oh," said Mr. Bantling, "We were certain you would like the last news."
On which Isabel vaguely noted that he and Henrietta seemed after all to
agree. Miss Stackpole came back with Isabel's maid, whom she had caught
in the act of proving her utility. This excellent person, instead of
losing herself in the crowd, had simply attended to her mistress's
luggage, so that the latter was now at liberty to leave the station.
"You know you're not to think of going to the country to-night,"
Henrietta remarked to her. "It doesn't matter whether there's a train
or not. You're to come straight to me in Wimpole Street. There isn't a
corner to be had in London, but I've got you one all the same. It isn't
a Roman palace, but it will do for a night."

"I'll do whatever you wish," Isabel said.

"You'll come and answer a few questions; that's what I wish."

"She doesn't say anything about dinner, does she, Mrs. Osmond?" Mr.
Bantling enquired jocosely.

Henrietta fixed him a moment with her speculative gaze. "I see you're
in a great hurry to get your own. You'll be at the Paddington Station
to