80 THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY. " I am rot sure the Pacific is blue," he said ; " but you are a woman of imagination. Henrietta, however, is fragrant Hen- rietta is decidedly fragrant ! " XL HE took a resolve after this not to misinterpret her words, even when Miss Stackpole appeared to strike the personal note most strongly. He bethought himself that persons, in her view, were simple and homogeneous organisms, and that he, for his own part, was too perverted a representative of human nature to have a right to deal with her in strict reciprocity. He carried out his resolve with a great deal of tact, and the young lady found in her relations with him no obstacle to the exercise of that somewhat aggressive frankness which was the social expres- sion of her nature. Her situation at Garden court, therefore, appreciated as we have seen her to be by Isabel, and full of appreciation herself of that fine freedom of composition which, to her sense, rendered Isabel's character a sister-spirit, and of the easy venerableness of Mr. Touchett, whose general tone, as she said, met with her full approval her situation at Garden- court would have been perfectly comfortable, had she not con- ceived an irresistible mistrust of the little lady to whom she had at first supposed herself obliged to pay a certain deference as mistress of the house. She presently discovered, however, that this obligation was of the lightest, and that Mrs. Touchett cared very little how Miss Stackpole behaved. Mrs. Touchett had spoken of her to Isabel as a " newspaper- woman, "and expressed some surprise at her niece's having selected such a friend ; but she had immediately added that she knew Isabel's friends were her own affair, and that she never undertook to like them all, or to restrict the girl to those she liked. " If you could see none but the people I like, my dear, yon would have a very small society," Mrs. Touchett frankly admitted; "and I don't think I like any man or woman well enough to recommend them to you. When it comes to recom- mending, it is a serious affair. I don't like Miss Stackpole I don't like her tone. She talks too loud, and she looks at me too hard. I am sure she has lived all her life in a boarding- house, and I detest the style of manners that such a way ot living produces. If you ask me if I prefer my own manners, which you doubtless think very bad, I will tell you that I
