“Oh, we are on excellent terms,” said Countess in a rather sarcastic tone. “So excellent, that he even proposed himself to lend me an escort of armed retainers to convey me to London.”
“To London!” exclaimed Christian, in some surprise. “I thought you would be going back to your father’s house at Oxford.”
“Oh, no!—that would not do at all. I did think of it for a moment; not now. London will be much better.”
“May I take the liberty to ask how you mean to live?” said David. “Of course it is no business of mine, but—”
“Go on,” said Countess, when he hesitated.
“Well, I don’t quite see what you can do, without either husband or father. Perhaps your brother Rubi is coming with you? You can’t live alone, surely.”
“I could, and get along very well, too; but I suppose one must not defy the world, foolish thing as it is. No, my brother Rubi is not coming, and I don’t want him either. But I want you—David and Ruth.”
David and Ruth—as Countess persisted in calling her—looked at each other in surprise and perplexity.
“You can take a week to think about it,” resumed Countess, in her coolest manner, which was very cool indeed. “I shall not set forth until the Sabbath is over. But I do not suppose you are so deeply in love with this hovel that you could not bring yourselves to leave it behind.”
“What do you mean us to do or be?”