"Do you know where you＇re drifting?" Henrietta pursued, holding out her bonnet delicately.
"No, I haven＇t the least idea, and I find it very pleasant not to know. A swift carriage, of a dark night,rattling with four horses over roads that one can＇t see—that＇s my idea of happiness."
"Mr. Goodwood certainly didn＇t teach you to say such things as that—like the heroine of an immoral novel," said Miss Stackpole. "You＇re drifting to some great mistake."
Isabel was irritated by her friend＇s interference, yet she still tried to think what truth this declaration could represent. She could think of nothing that diverted her from saying: "You must be very fond of me, Henrietta,to be willing to be so aggressive."