"Oh, I see; I dare say you found it very quiet at Gardencourt. Naturally there＇s not much going on there when there＇s such a lot of illness about. Touchett＇s very bad, you know; the doctors have forbidden his being in England at all, and he has only come back to take care of his father. The old man, I believe, has half a dozen things the matter with him. They call it gout,but to my certain knowledge he has organic disease so developed that you may depend upon it he＇ll go,some day soon, quite quickly. Of course that sort of thing makes a dreadfully dull house; I wonder they have people when they can do so little for them. Then I believe Mr. Touchett＇s always squabbling with his wife; she lives away from her husband, you know,in that extraordinary American way of yours. If you want a house where there＇s always something going on, I recommend you to go down and stay with my sister, Lady Pensil, in Bedfordshire. I＇ll write to her tomorrow and I＇m sure she＇ll be delighted to ask you. I know just what you want—you want a house where they go in for theatricals and picnics and that sort of thing. My sister＇s just that sort of woman; she＇s always getting up something or other and she＇s always glad to have the sort of people who help her. I＇m sure she＇ll ask you down by return of post: she＇s tremendously fond of distinguished people and writers. She writes herself, you know; but I haven＇t read everything she has written. It＇s usually poetry, and I don＇t go in much for poetry—unless it＇s Byron. I suppose you think a great deal of Byron in America," Mr. Bantling continued, expanding in the stimulating air of Miss Stackpole＇s attention, bringing up his sequences promptly and changing his topic with an easy turn of hand. Yet he none the less gracefully kept in sight of the idea, dazzling to Henrietta, of her going to stay with Lady Pensil in Bedfordshire. "I understand what you want; you want to see some genuine English sport.The Touchetts aren＇t English at all, you know; they have their own habits, their own language, their own food—some odd religion even, I believe, of their own.The old man thinks it＇s wicked to hunt, I＇m told. You must get down to my sister＇s in time for the theatricals,and I＇m sure she＇ll be glad to give you a part. I＇m sure you act well; I know you＇re very clever. My sister＇s forty years old and has seven children, but she＇s going to play the principal part. 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."