“Oh, auntie!” whispered Laura, “impossible.”
“It is not impossible, Laura,” cried the old lady; “and I beg that you will not interfere. Isabel, my child, I shall be very glad indeed if you will stay, and you need not be at all afraid of meeting that dissolute, dissipated young man.”
“Mrs Crane”—began Isabel, agitatedly, but she was interrupted at once.
“No, no, no, my dear; pray don’t apologise and make excuses. Laura and I would be very pleased, and we see nothing whatever of Frederick now from breakfast-time to dinner. I don’t know where he spends his days, but he is after no good.”
“Aunt dear, I really must interfere once more,” cried Laura, warmly. “It is, as I said, impossible for Isabel to stoop to meet Fred again; and as to staying in the house—my dear aunt, of what can you be thinking?”
“That we are beginning to live in evil times, Laura,” cried the old lady, indignantly, “when little girls so far forget the respect due to their elders as to speak as you did just now. I ought to be the best judge, miss, of what is correct, if you please.”
“Pray say no more, Mrs Crane,” cried Isabel, earnestly. “I must go back to the hotel where we are staying. It would indeed be impossible for me to visit here now.”
“Oh, very well, my dear, very well,” cried the old lady, drawing herself up. “I can see very plainly that you have allowed yourself to be impressed by what Laura has said. Young people will hold together, and think that they are wiser than their elders. There is one comfort, though, for us old folk: you all find out your mistake.”
“Good-bye, dear Mrs Crane,” said Isabel, advancing with open hands.
“Good-day, Miss Lee,” said the old lady, frigidly, as she held out her fingers limply.