We had come out upon the street now, and walked for a little in silence.
“Ermie,” I said at last, “you mustn’t be annoyed with me—this is one of my sentimental days, and you know as an old friend of the family I’ve a certain right of free speech—but this doesn’t seem to me quite good enough. A girl like you—beautiful and clever and accomplished, knowing your way about among books, and with tastes above the ruck—there ought to be a better outlook for you than this! I know that type of young man, and he isn’t in your street at all. Come now!” I went on, gathering courage, “look me in the face if you can, and tell me that you honestly love this young man, or that you really respect his father, or that you candidly expect to be happy. I defy you to do it!”
I was wrong. Ermyntrude did look me in the face, squarely and without hesitation. She halted for the moment to do so, and her gaze, though not unkindly, was full of serious frankness.
“There is one thing I do expect,” she said, calmly. “I expect to get away from Fernbank.”
Suggesting Considerations possibly heretofore Overlooked by Commentators upon the Laws of Property
You will find Dudley up in what he calls his library,” said Mrs Albert in the hallway. “I’m so sorry I must go out—but he’ll be glad to see you. And—let me entreat you, don’t give him any encouragement!”
“What!” I cried, “encourage Uncle Dudley? Oh—never, never!”
“No, just be firm with him,” Mrs Albert went on. “Say that it mustn’t be thought of for a moment. And Oh—by the way—it’s as well to warn you: don’t ask him what he did it for! It seems that every one asks him that—and he gets quite enraged about it now, when that particular question is put. As like as not he’d throw something at you.” She spoke earnestly, in low, impressive tones.