her that 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, and 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," he said. "I was at Gardencourt two days ago."
"Did you see my cousin?"
"Only for a little. But he had been seeing people; Warburton was there the day before. Touchett 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 immensely friendly all the same. He was just as clever as ever. It's awfully sad."
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 would like to know."
"I am very much 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 very tired."
"Yes, I am very tired. And I thank you again."
"Oh," said Mr. Bantling, "we were certain you would like the last news." While Isabel vaguely noted that after all he and Henrietta seemed to agree.
