Bantling, who had now returned to England, was her companion for the first four weeks of her stay; and about Mr.Bantling there was nothing dreamy.Isabel learned from her friend that the two had led a life of great personal intimacy and that this had been a peculiar advantage to Henrietta, owing to the gentleman's remarkable knowledge of Paris.He had explained everything, shown her everything, been her constant guide and interpreter.They had breakfasted together, dined together, gone to the theatre together, supped together, really in a manner quite lived together.He was a true friend, Henrietta more than once assured our heroine; and she had never supposed that she could like any Englishman so well.Isabel could not have told you why, but she found something that ministered to mirth in the alliance the correspondent of the Interviewer had struck with Lady Pensil's brother; her amusement moreover subsisted in face of the fact that she thought it a credit to each of them.Isabel couldn't rid herself of a suspicion that they were playing somehow at cross-purposes- that the simplicity of each had been entrapped.But this simplicity was on either side none the less honourable.It was as graceful on Henrietta's part to believe that Mr.Bantling took an interest in the diffusion of lively journalism and in consolidating the position of lady-correspondents as it was on the part of his companion to suppose that the cause of the Interviewer- a periodical of which he never formed a very definite conception- was, if subtly analyzed (a task to which Mr.Bantling felt himself quite equal), but the cause of Miss Stackpole's need of demonstrative affection.Each of these groping celibates supplied at any rate a want of which the other was impatiently conscious.Mr.Bantling, who was of rather a slow and a discursive habit, relished a prompt, keen, positive woman, who charmed him by the influence of a shining, challenging eye and a kind of bandbox freshness, and who kindled a perception of raciness in a mind to which the usual fare of life seemed unsalted.Henrietta, on the other hand, enjoyed the society of a gentleman who appeared somehow, in his way, made, by expensive, roundabout, almost "quaint"processes, for her use, and whose leisured state, though generally indefensible, was a decided boon to a breathless mate, and who was furnished with an easy, traditional, though by no means exhaustive, answer to almost any social or practical question that could come up.She often found Mr.Bantling's answers very convenient, and in the press of catching the American post would largely and showily address them to publicity.It was to be feared that she was indeed drifting toward those abysses of sophistication as to which Isabel, wishing for a good-humoured retort, had warned her.There might be danger in store for Isabel; but it was scarcely to be hoped that Miss Stackpole, on her side, would find permanent rest in any adoption of the views of a class pledged to all the old abuses.Isabel continued to warn her good-humouredly; Lady Pensil's obliging brother was sometimes, on our heroine's lips, an object of irreverent and facetious allusion.Nothing, however, could exceed Henrietta's amiability on this point; she used to abound in the sense of Isabel's irony and to enumerate with elation the hours she had spent with this perfect man of the world- a term that had ceased to make with her, as previously, for opprobrium.Then, a few moments later, she would forget that they had been talking jocosely and would mention with impulsive earnestness some expedition she had enjoyed in his company.She would say: "Oh, I know all about Versailles; I went there with Mr.Bantling.I was bound to see it thoroughly- I warned him when we went out there that I was thorough:
so we spent three days at the hotel and wandered all over the place.
It was lovely weather- a kind of Indian summer, only not so good.We just lived in that park.Oh yes; you can't tell me anything about Versailles." Henrietta appeared to have made arrangements to meet her gallant friend during the spring in Italy.
