THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. 73 Stackpole, with the best conscience in the world, offered to read her letter to Isabel, who immediately put in her protest. " I don't think you ought to do that. I don't think you ought to describe the place." Henrietta gazed at her, as usual. " Why, it's just what the people want, and it's a lovely place." " It's too lovely to be put in the newspapers, and it's not what my uncle wants." "Don't you believe that!" cried Henrietta. "They are always delighted, afterwards." " My uncle won't be delighted nor my cousin, either. They vdll consider it a breach of hospitality." Miss Stackpole showed no sense of confusion ; she simply wiped her pen, very neatly, upon an elegant little implement which she kept for the purpose, and put away her manuscript. " Of course if you don't approve, I won't do it ; but I sacrifice a beautiful subject." " There are plenty of other subjects, there are subjects all round you. We will take some drives, and I will show you some charming scenery." " Scenery is not my department ; I always need a human interest. You know I am deeply human, Isabel ; I always was," Miss Stackpole rejoined. " 1 was going to bring in your cousin the alienated American. There is a great demand just now for the alienated American, and your cousin is a beautiful speci- men. I should have handled him severely." " He would have died of it !" Isabel exclaimed. " Not of the severity, but of the publicity." " Well, I should have liked to kill him a little. And I should have delighted to do your uncle, who seems to me a much nobler type the American faithful still. He is a grand old man ; I don't see how he can object to my paying him honour." Isabel looked at her companion in much wonderment ; it appeared to her so strange that a nature in which she found so much to esteem should exhibit such extraordinary disparities. " My poor Henrietta," she said, " you have no sense of privacy." Henrietta coloured deeply, and for a moment her brilliant eyes were suffused ; while Isabel marvelled more than ever at her in- consistency. " You do me great injustice," said Miss Stackpole, with dignity. " I have never written a word about myself ! " " I am very sure of that ; but it seems to me one should be modest for others also ! " " Ah, that is very good ! " cried Henrietta, seizing her pen again. " Just let me make a note of it, and I will put it in a
