“Aunt dear!” cried Laura, jumping up to go to her side again; “what is the matter?”
“I don’t like it, my dear. His being out like that.”
“Well, Fred doesn’t either.”
“Ah, but that’s it. He does, and it’s horrible; and I will not sit still and see him deceive this poor, dear lamb.”
“Mrs Crane!” cried Isabel, sitting up flushed with indignation.
“I can’t help it, my dear. I should be a wicked woman if I did not speak. I watched last night, and I saw her. One of those horridly handsome, fashionable-looking ladies, and she carried him off just as if she were leading him by a chain. I can’t help it! I had a presentiment then, and I’m obliged to speak. He hasn’t come back, and I felt he would not, and as sure as I’m alive he’ll never come back again.”
“Aunt!” cried Laura, passionately. “Shame—Bel dear, don’t take any notice of her.”
But her words had no effect. Isabel had risen with her face scarlet, then turning white as her lips parted to utter an indignant rebuke.
No words came, and covering her face with her hand she hurried out of the room.
“Auntie!” cried Laura, passionately. “See what you’ve done. You’re right. It’s quite time you made up your mind to die.”