VOLUME II
53. CHAPTER LIII
(continued)
"You'll come and answer a few questions; that's what I wish."
"She doesn't say anything about dinner, does she, Mrs. Osmond?"
Mr. Bantling enquired jocosely.
Henrietta fixed him a moment with her speculative gaze. "I see
you're in a great hurry to get your own. You'll be at the
Paddington Station to-morrow morning at ten."
"Don't come for my sake, Mr. Bantling," said Isabel.
"He'll come for mine," Henrietta declared as she ushered her
friend into a cab. And later, in a large dusky parlour in Wimpole
Street--to do her justice there had been dinner enough--she asked
those questions to which she had alluded at the station. "Did
your husband make you a scene about your coming?" That was Miss
Stackpole's first enquiry.
"No; I can't say he made a scene."
"He didn't object then?"
"Yes, he objected very much. But it was not what you'd call a
scene."
"What was it then?"
"It was a very quiet conversation."
Henrietta for a moment regarded her guest. "It must have been
hellish," she then remarked. And Isabel didn't deny that it had
been hellish. But she confined herself to answering Henrietta's
questions, which was easy, as they were tolerably definite. For
the present she offered her no new information. "Well," said Miss
Stackpole at last, "I've only one criticism to make. I don't see
why you promised little Miss Osmond to go back."
"I'm not sure I myself see now," Isabel replied. "But I did
then."
"If you've forgotten your reason perhaps you won't return."
Isabel waited a moment. "Perhaps I shall find another."
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