" The companions of freemen—I like that, Miss Stackpole," said Ralph. "It's a beautiful description."
"When I said freemen, I didn't mean you, sir!"
And this was the only reward that Ralph got for his compliment. Miss Stackpole was baffled; she evidently thought there was something treasonable in Mrs. Touchett's appreciation of a class which she privately suspected of being a mysterious survival of feudalism. It was perhaps because her mind was oppressed with this image that she suffered some days to elapse before she said to Isabel in the morning, while they were alone together,
"My dear friend, I wonder whether you are growing faithless?
"Faithless? Faithless to you, Henrietta?"
"No, that would be a great pain; but it is not that."
"Faithless to my country, then?"
"Ah, that I hope will never be. When I wrote to you from Liverpool, I said I had something particular to tell you. You have never asked me what it is. Is it because you have suspected?"
"Suspected what? As a rule, I don't think I suspect," said Isabel. "I remember now that phrase in your letter, but I confess I had forgotten it. What have you to tell me?"
Henrietta looked disappointed, and her steady gaze betrayed it.
"You don't ask that right—as if you thought it important. You are changed—you are thinking of other things."
"Tell me what you mean, and I will think of that."
"Will you really think of it? That is what I wish to be sure of."
"I have not much control of my thoughts, but I will do my best," said Isabel.
