“Oh, I’m sorry for myself, more ways than one: but not so much for Stephen.”
“Why, Osbert, do you know where he is, and what he’s doing?”
“Will you promise not to let on to Anania, if I tell you?”
“Never a word that I can help, trust me.”
“Her knowing matters nought, except that she’ll never let me be if she thinks I have half a notion about it. Well, he’s gone south somewhere—I don’t justly know where, but I have a guess of London way.”
“What for?”
“Dare say he had more reasons than he gave me. He told me he was going to be married.”
“Dear saints!—who to?”
“Didn’t ask him.”
Isel sat looking at Osbert in astonishment, with a piece of pie transfixed on the end of her knife.