“Very well, you will remind him of it. You will say that you have sought refuge with friends, who are taking you into the country, and that you won’t return to your home unless he inserts an advertisement in the Morning Post, signifying that he will not ask you to marry Sir James.”
Phoebe looked a little doubtful. “Yes, but my Papa is so obstinate that I don’t suppose he will do it.”
“Fiddle! If he cannot find you, and he will not, he must do so.”
“He will be dreadfully angry,” said Phoebe, with a shiver.
“No, he will be glad to have you restored to him. Besides, he would be just as angry if you went to your aunt, would he not?”
“Yes, indeed he would! Oh dear, do you think I ought not to have run away at all? It happened so quickly that I had scarcely time to think, and now I see that whatever I do they will be angry with me. Besides, I have no friends, so where am I to go?”
“Nowhere, silly puss! You will stay here with me until your parents relent, or until I—until Lord Mablethorpe and I think what is to be done with you.”
“Oh!” cried Phoebe, jumping up. “If only I could! And then perhaps I could become a governess, or an actress, or something of that nature, and never, never go home again!”
“As to that,” said Miss Grantham diplomatically, “we shall have to consult Lord Mablethorpe.”
“Oh yes! He will know what I ought to do!” agreed Phoebe confidently.