‘Oh no!’ cries she quickly, with a sudden terror, indeed; ‘no, no’—putting up her hands—‘I can’t—I won’t—I’ll never go out. Mr. Wyndham, don’t—don’t ask me to do that.’
It is in Wyndham’s mind to say to her that it would be of considerable benefit to his social look-out if she would only consent to know people, and make herself known, and break through this deplorable attitude of secrecy that she has taken up; but a glance at her young frightened face deters him. He shrugs his shoulders over his own ill-luck, and bears it.
‘I—you are angry with me again,’ says Ella nervously; ‘but I can’t go out of this place. I can’t, indeed, unless you could send me somewhere across the sea where he could never find me. But to leave this!’ Her lips quiver, and she turns aside.
‘Nonsense! Who wants you to leave this?’ says Wyndham roughly. ‘But I think you ought to have some common-sense about you. You have no one to give you advice of any sort, and you are about the most headstrong girl I ever met.’
‘I have taken your advice,’ says she, ‘always—always.’ Her face is still turned away, and her voice sounds stifled.
‘Always when it suited you; but not now, when it might be of some use. Of course, I can see quite plainly that that old idiot Mrs. Moriarty is backing you up in all your nonsensical fears, but there will soon be an end to that. I have engaged a lady to come and live with you, and give you lessons, and knock some sense into your head, I hope.’
‘A lady to live with me? You have found her, then? You meant it?’
‘Naturally I meant it, and I only hope she will be able to show you the folly of your ways—a matter in which I have most signally failed.’
Wyndham has worked himself into quite a righteous fever of wrath against her. Good heavens! what a row there is bound to be shortly with his aunt about this obstinate recluse! He has gone a little too far. The girl turns upon him, gently indeed, but with a certain dignity in her air.
‘As I have told you, I can always leave this,’ says she; ‘but it will be for a place where I can live alone, and where I shall never have to leave my home, even though it be a garret. I—I have thought of a convent’—her voice faltering—‘but I am a Protestant, and—’ She sighs heavily. ‘Mr. Wyndham,’ cries she suddenly, ‘why do you want me to go out—to know people? Why?’