"Have I been mad not to see?" she thought, seated alone in the morning-room, work in hand. "Why have I not understood? But Ethel will have him sooner or later. She will not hold out long. And I—I cannot stay to see! I am glad my money is gone. That will be my excuse to run away. I could not live here, looking on. I shall be a governess."
Then she heard Nigel saying "Fulvia," and looked up, to answer, "Yes."
"Are we to start on the expedition now?" she said at length, rising. "I am ready, if you wish it. Daisy had better come as well."
Nigel assented absently, and Fulvia left the room. Coming back, she wore a look of vexation.
"Daisy has gone out, no one knows where, and Anice declines. She says she can't."
"Anice's 'can't' is equivalent to 'won't.' I don't think it matters. The decision will rest with you."
"Why should it?"
"You are the eldest daughter, are you not?"
Fulvia shrugged her shoulders slightly, but in words she raised no objection. Fifteen minutes' quick walk brought them to No. 9 Bourne Street, hardly a word being uttered by the way.
As Fulvia had said, it was a respectable locality. The houses were of white stucco, with neat porches and balconies, and tidy oblong gardens behind. A narrow strip of enclosed grass, with small trees, occupied the centre of the street from one end to the other. Beside the porch was one window: and two windows above were capped by yet two others.