Plain as she is she makes up awfully well- I will
say for her. Of course you needn't act if you don't want to."
In this manner Mr. Bantling delivered himself while they strolled
over the grass in Winchester Square, which, although it had been
peppered by the London soot, invited the tread to linger. Henrietta
thought her blooming, easy-voiced bachelor, with his impressibility to
feminine merit and his splendid range of suggestion, a very
agreeable man, and she valued the opportunity he offered her. "I don't
know but I would go, if your sister should ask me. 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's as good as another. But what's her rank?"
"Oh, she's a baron's wife; a convenient sort of rank. You're fine
enough and you're 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 dare say you won't mind it. I'll try and run down while
you're there."
All this was very pleasant to Miss Stackpole, and she was sorry to
be obliged to separate from Lady Pensil's obliging brother.
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