“Marian has run away!”
“Run away!”
“Yes,” said Miss McQuinch. “She has fled to Mrs. Toplis’s, at St. Mary’s Terrace, with—as Uncle Reginald was just saying—a most dangerous associate.”
“With—?”
“With me, in short.”
“And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?”
“No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well used to domestic discomfort as I am; so she insisted on going. We have got very nice rooms: you may come and see us, if you like.”
“Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?” said the Rev. George, indignantly. “I think the spectacle of a wrecked home—”
“Stuff!” interrupted Elinor, impatiently. “What else can I say? Uncle Reginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe what I tell him. And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you have driven her away. If you want to see her, she is within five minutes walk of you. It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has wrecked yours.”
“There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George,” said Mr. Lind, with the air of a man who had tried it. “You had better go to Marian, and tell her what you mentioned this afternoon. What has been the result of your visit?”