she said. " I think it would be my duty. What do you call her name?"
"Pensil. It's an odd name, but it isn't a bad one."
"I think one name is as good as another. But what is her rank?"
"Oh,, she's a baron's wife; a convenient sort of rank. You are fine enough, and you are not too fine."
"I don't know but what she'd be too fine for me. What do you call the place she lives in—Bedfordshire?"
"She lives away in the northern corner of it. It's a tiresome country, but I daresay you won't mind it. I'll try and run down while you are there."
All this was very pleasant to Miss Stackpole, and she was sorry to be obliged to separate from Lady Pensil's obliging brother. But it happened that she had met the day before, in Piccadilly, some friends whom she had not seen for a year; the Miss Climbers, two ladies from Wilmington, Delaware, who had been travelling on the continent and were now preparing to re-embark. Henrietta had a long interview with them on the Piccadilly pavement, and though the three ladies all talked at once, they had not exhausted their accumulated topics. It had been agreed therefore that Henrietta should come and dine with them in their lodgings in Jermyn Street at six o'clock on the morrow, and she now bethought herself of this engagement. She prepared to start for Jermyn Street, taking leave first of Ralph Touchett and Isabel, who, seated on garden chairs in another part of the inclosure, were occupied—if the term may be used—with an exchange of amenities less pointed than the practical colloquy of Miss Stackpole and Mr. Bantling. When it had been settled between Isabel and her friend that they should be re-united at some reputable hour at Pratt's Hotel,
