"Hear of him? I know him very well. Do you consider him very smart?" Henrietta inquired.
"I don't know him, but I am told he is extremely grand seigneur. He is making love to Isabel."
"Making love to her?"
"So I'm told; I don't know the details," said the Countess lightly. "But Isabel is pretty safe."
Henrietta gazed earnestly at her companion; for a moment she said nothing.
"When do you go to Rome?" she inquired, abruptly.
"Not for a week, I am afraid."
"I shall go to-morrow," Henrietta said. "I think I had better not wait."
"Dear me, I am sorry; I am having some dresses made. I am told Isabel receives immensely. But I shall see you there; I shall call on you at your pension." Henrietta sat still—she was lost in thought; and suddenly the Countess cried, "Ah, but if you don't go with me you can't describe our journey!"
Miss Stackpole seemed unmoved by this consideration; she was thinking of something else, and she presently expressed it.
"I am not sure that I understand you about Lord Warburton."
"Understand me? I mean he's very nice, that's all."
"Do you consider it nice to make love to married women?" Henrietta inquired, softly.
The Countess stared, and then, with a little violent laugh—"It's certain that all the nice men do it. Get married and you'll see!" she added.
"That idea would be enough to prevent me," said Miss Stackpole. "I should want my own husband; I shouldn't want any
