ONE day, toward the end of February, Ralph Touchett made up his mind to return to England. He had his own reasons for this decision, which he was not bound to communicate; but Henrietta Stackpole, to whom he mentioned his intention, flattered herself that she guessed them. She forbore to express them, however; she only said, after a moment, as she sat by his sofa—

“I suppose you know that you can't go alone?”

“I have no idea of doing that,” Ralph answered. “I shall have people with me.”

“What do you mean by ‘people’? Servants, whom you pay?”

“Ah,” said Ralph, jocosely, “after all, they are human beings.”

“Are there any women among them?” Miss Stackpole inquired, calmly.

“You speak as if I had a dozen! No, I confess I haven't a soubrette in my employment.”

“Well,” said Henrietta, tranquilly, “you can't go to England that way. You must have a woman's care.”

“I have had so much of yours for the past fortnight that it will last me a good while.”

“You have not had enough of it yet. I guess I will go with you,” said Henrietta.

“Go with me?” Ralph slowly raised himself from his sofa.

“Yes, I know you don't like me, but I will go with you all the same. It would be better for your health to lie down again.”

Ralph looked at her a little; then he slowly resumed his former posture.

“I like you very much,” he said in a moment.

Miss Stackpole gave one of her infrequent laughs.

“You needn't think that by saying that you can buy me off. I will go with you, and what is more I will take care of you.”

“You are a very good woman,” said Ralph.

“Wait till I get you safely home before you say that. It won't be easy. But you had better go, all the same.”

Before she left him, Ralph said to her—

“Do you really mean to take care of me?”

“Well, I mean to try.”

“I notify you, then, that I submit. Oh, I submit!” And it was perhaps a sign of submission that a few minutes after she had left him alone he burst into a loud fit of laughter.