‘One must be very modest then to talk with such women,’ Ralph said humbly. ‘But it’s a very strange type. She’s too personal—considering that she expects other people not to be. She walks in without knocking at the door.’

‘Yes,’ Isabel admitted, ‘she doesn’t sufficiently recognize the existence of knockers; and indeed I’m not sure that she doesn’t think them rather a pretentious ornament. She thinks one’s door should stand ajar. But I persist in liking her.’

‘I persist in thinking her too familiar,’ Ralph rejoined, naturally somewhat uncomfortable under the sense of having been doubly deceived in Miss Stackpole.

‘Well,’ said Isabel, smiling, ‘I’m afraid it’s because she’s rather vulgar that I like her.’

‘She would be flattered by your reason!’

‘If I should tell her I wouldn’t express it in that way. I should say it’s because there’s something of the “people” in her.’

‘What do you know about the people? and what does she, for that matter?’

‘She knows a great deal, and I know enough to feel that she’s a kind of emanation of the great democracy—of the continent, the country, the nation. I don’t say that she sums it all up, that would be too much to ask of her. But she suggests it; she vividly figures it.’

‘You like her then for patriotic reasons. I’m afraid it is on those very grounds I object to her.’

‘Ah,’ said Isabel with a kind of joyous sigh, ‘I like so many things! If a thing strikes me with a certain intensity I accept it. I don’t want to swagger, but I suppose I’m rather versatile. I like people to be totally different from Henrietta—in the style of Lord Warburton’s sisters for instance. So long as I look at the Misses Molyneux they seem to me to answer a kind of ideal. Then Henrietta presents herself, and I’m straightway convinced by her; not so much in respect to herself as in respect to what masses behind her.’

‘Ah, you mean the back view of her,’ Ralph suggested.

‘What she says is true,’ his cousin answered; ‘you’ll never be serious. I like the great country stretching away beyond the rivers and across the prairies, blooming and smiling and spreading till it stops at the green Pacific! A strong, sweet, fresh odour seems to rise from it, and Henrietta—pardon my simile—has something of that odour in her garments.’

Isabel blushed a little as she concluded this speech, and the blush, together with the momentary ardour she had thrown into it, was so becoming to her that Ralph stood smiling at her for a moment after she had ceased speaking. ‘I’m not sure the Pacific’s so green as that,’ he said; ‘but you’re a young woman of imagination. Henrietta, however, does smell of the Future—it almost knocks one down!’