"Do you call that happiness—the ownership of human beings?" cried Miss Stackpole. "He owns his tenants, and he has thousands of them. It is pleasant to own something, but inanimate objects are enough for me. I don't insist on flesh and blood, and minds and consciences."
"It seems to me you own a human being or two," Mr. Bantling suggested jocosely. "I wonder if Warburton orders his tenants about as you do me."
"Lord Warburton is a great radical," Isabel said. "He has very advanced opinions."
"He has very advanced stone walls. His park is inclosed by a gigantic iron fence, some thirty miles round," Henrietta announced, for the information of Mr. Osmond. "I should like him to converse with a few of our Boston radicals."
"Don't they approve of iron fences?" asked Mr. Bantling.
"Only to shut up wicked conservatives. I always feel as if I were talking to you over a fence!"
"Do you know him well, this unreformed reformer?" Osmond went on, questioning Isabel.
"Well enough."
"Do you like him?"
"Very much."
"Is he a man of ability?"
"Of excellent ability, and as good as he looks."
"As good as he is good-looking do you mean? He is very good-looking. How detestably fortunate! to be a great English magnate, to be clever and handsome into the bargain, and, by way of finishing off, to enjoy your favour! That's a man I could envy."
Isabel gave a serious smile.
