“But you know enough already; and you will be frightfully dull if you live by yourself.”
“Not so dull as I am here. And, when I have got on with music and other things, I shall take another resident engagement—abroad this time. I think I should like to go to Russia or Canada.”
“Have you many friends in London?”
“No. I had some once, before papa died. But one falls out of the way of one’s friends somehow when one gets very poor. It isn’t their fault, and it doesn’t seem to be one’s own; but it always happens.”
“I want you to promise me something,” said George, in a low voice.
She looked up inquiringly.
“I want you to promise to give me your address in London if you settle there by yourself.”
Miss Lane hesitated. She was very much touched by his sympathy, very anxious not to lose it by offending him; but she did not think his request was one which she could or ought to grant. Independence had made her careful.
“I have not the least idea where I shall be, or if I shall be able to carry out my plan at all,” said she, evasively.
“Where there is a will there is a way, you know; and I should think that is more the case with you than with most people.”