"I'll do whatever you wish," Isabel said.
"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.