"It's too beautiful that you should have come," said Henrietta, looking at her as if she thought Isabel might be prepared to challenge the proposition."If you hadn't-if you hadn't; well, I don't know,"remarked Miss Stackpole, hinting ominously at her powers of disapproval.
Isabel looked about without seeing her maid.Her eyes rested on another figure, however, which she felt she had seen before; and in a moment she recognized the genial countenance of Mr.Bantling.He stood a little apart, and it was not in the power of the multitude that pressed about him to make him yield an inch of the ground he had taken-that of abstracting himself discreetly while the two ladies performed their embraces.
"There's Mr.Bantling," said Isabel, gently, irrelevantly, scarcely caring much now whether she should find her maid or not.
"Oh yes, he goes everywhere with me.Come here, Mr.Bantling!"Henrietta exclaimed.Whereupon the gallant bachelor advanced with a smile-a smile tempered, however, by the gravity of the occasion.
"Isn't it lovely she has come?" Henrietta asked."He knows all about it," she added; "we had quite a discussion.He said you wouldn't, Isaid you would."
"I thought you always agreed," Isabel smiled in return.She felt she could smile now; she had seen in an instant, in Mr.Bantling's brave eyes, that he had good news for her.They seemed to say he wished her to remember he was an old friend of her cousin-that he understood, that it was all right.Isabel gave him her hand; she thought of him, extravagantly, as a beautiful blameless knight.
"Oh, I always agree," said Mr.Bantling."But she doesn't, you know.""Didn't I tell you that a maid was a nuisance?" Henrietta enquired.
"Your young lady has probably remained at Calais.""I don't care," said Isabel, looking at Mr.Bantling, whom she had never found so interesting.
"Stay with her while I go and see," Henrietta commanded, leaving the two for a moment together.
They stood there at first in silence, and then Mr.Bantling asked Isabel how it had been on the Channel.
"Very fine.No, I believe it was very rough," she said, to her companion's obvious surprise.After which she added: "You've been to Gardencourt, I know.""Now how do you know that?"
"I can't tell you-except that you look like a person who has been to Gardencourt.""Do you think I look awfully sad? It's awfully sad there, you know.""I don't believe you ever look awfully sad.You look awfully 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."greatly obliged to you.Can I go down to-night?""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 tomorrow.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-morrow morning at ten.""Don't come for my sake, Mr.Bantling," said Isabel.
"He'll come for mine," Henrietta declared as she ushered her friend into a cab.And later, in a large dusky parlour in Wimpole Street-to do her justice there had been dinner enough-she asked those questions to which she had alluded at the station."Did your husband make you a scene about your coming?" That was Miss Stackpole's first enquiry.
"No; I can't say he made a scene."
"He didn't object then?"
"Yes, he objected very much.But it was not what you'd call a scene.""What was it then?"
"It was a very quiet conversation."
