"Ah, the letter came at last!"
"Yes; it took five years. But this time she wanted to see me."
"Naturally enough."
"It was more natural than I think you know," said Henrietta, fixing her eyes on a distant point. And then she added, turning suddenly: "Isabel Archer, I beg your pardon. You don't know why? Because I criticised you, and yet I have gone further than you. Mr. Osmond, at least, was born on the other side!"
It was a moment before Isabel perceived her meaning; it was so modestly, or at least so ingeniously, veiled. Isabel's mind was not possessed at present with the comicality of things; but she greeted with a quick laugh the image that her companion had raised. She immediately recovered herself, however, and with a gravity too pathetic to be real—
"Henrietta Stackpole," she asked, "are you going to give up your country?"
"Yes, my poor Isabel, I am. I won't pretend to deny it; I look the fact in the face. I am going to marry Mr. Bantling, and I am going to reside in London."
"It seems very strange," said Isabel, smiling now.
"Well yes, I suppose it does. I have come to it little by little. I think I know what I am doing; but I don't know that I can explain."
"One can't explain one's marriage," Isabel answered. "And yours doesn't need to be explained. Mr. Bantling is very good."
Henrietta said nothing; she seemed lost in reflection.
"He has a beautiful nature," she remarked at last. "I have studied him for many years, and I see right through him. He's
