"He mustn't hear it," May whispered. "We have always been very good friends, Alice, and you can help me now if you will. I am going to confide in you and you must not whisper a word of it to a soul. So long as your father is away I shall be safe with you, and as he may not be back for some weeks I will have time to turn round. I must go away, I cannot stay here any longer. Something has happened which compels me to get my own living."
"Oh, impossible!" Alice cried.
"My dear, don't you know that it is the unexpected that happens? Well, in my case, it has. If anybody had told me this a couple of months ago I should have laughed the idea to scorn. It would have been incredible that my father should threaten to turn me out of the house. Hitherto we have been the best of friends, and I have regarded him as one of the most upright and most honourable of men. I have always prided myself upon the fact that nothing could rob us of our good name; but I was mistaken, Alice. Actually this place does not belong to us at all. My father is a mere lodger, dependent upon the good will of Mr. Raymond Copley, who can turn us out at any moment. Moreover, he has compelled my father to do a thing that I blush to mention. Do you know why Mr. Copley has brought all this about?"
"I think I can guess," Alice said. "He is anxious to marry you. Am I not right?"
"You have guessed it," May exclaimed. "You have saved me the humiliation of telling you that. Mr. Copley can't say he has bought me. But he has bought my father, and it comes to this, that unless I consent to be Raymond Copley's wife I am to consider this my home no longer. These were my father's very words. I suppose he chose them because they sounded best. But it is as if he had told me to go. I couldn't marry that man; nothing would induce me to do so. There is worse behind—there is a conspiracy on foot which I overheard in the library just now. You must not ask me to tell you what it is. My tongue would refuse to tell it. Well, it is the last straw. I couldn't be more miserable than I have been the last week or so. I cannot stay any longer. I have little or no money, but I have my mother's jewels which ought to fetch at least a thousand pounds. I propose to go to London and look about for something to do. I want to come to you because we are such friends, and because I know you will sympathize with me. We can live very cheaply together and I will pay you for all I have, and before your father returns I shall probably have found work. You won't refuse, will you?"
"How can you think such a thing?" Alice said reproachfully. "There is nothing I would not do for you, and I know we shall be perfectly happy together. It would be worse than death to marry a man like Mr. Copley. I don't know why it is, but from the very first moment I saw him I hated him. I think he has such a cruel face. His mouth is so hard and his eyes are dreadful. But when do you want to go? When will you be ready to start?"
"Didn't you say you must be back in town on Tuesday? Didn't you say something about your pupils? Well, suppose you go up on that day and I follow you on Wednesday. It would arouse suspicion for us both to go at the same time, and indeed I would ask you to stay longer only I can't breathe here. Knowing what I do, it is hateful to have to sit down to the same table with my father. I daresay I shall come to forgive him in time, but for the present it is beyond my strength. Mr. Copley is always about the house. Do try to make it Tuesday if you can. It seems so horrid of me——"
Alice rose from her seat and kissed the speaker affectionately.
"I won't hear another word," she said. "It is not in the least horrid of you. I will gladly do all I can to help you."
Tuesday came at length and Alice Carden went away, leaving May to her own melancholy thoughts. She had not seen Harry Fielden for a few days and was thankful he had not been near her. It would be hard parting from him. It would be difficult to say good-bye without betraying herself or giving him some inkling of what had happened. After lunch on Wednesday she stole out of the house and walked to the station. She had sent on her luggage by Alice Carden the day before, so that when she left for London it might seem that she was only going for a casual visit. She would not mind the new life, so she thought, and she hardened her heart as she looked out of the carriage window. But, all the same, she was glad to find herself alone, for the tears would come and the old familiar landscape grew dim and blurred.