“What! Is not Sir Lionel there?”
“Sir Lionel there! I only wish he was. Why, is it possible that you do not know that Sir Lionel is positively not in England? He travels all the time, and only comes home occasionally. Perhaps you know the cause—his family troubles ten years ago. He had a row with his wife then, and it has blighted his life. Sir Lionel? Why, at this moment I dare say he is somewhere among the Ural Mountains, or Patagonia, or some other equally remote country. But who told you that he was in England?”
Edith was silent. She had taken it for granted that Sir Lionel lived in his own home.
“Can I not write to him?” she asked.
“Of course, if you can only secure his address; and that I will do my utmost to find out for you. But to do this will be a work of time.”
“Yes,” sighed Edith.
“And what can you do in the mean time? Where can you go?”
“There is Miss Plympton.”
“Yes, your teacher. And you don't wish to go to the school, but to some private place near it. Now what sort of a woman is Miss Plympton? Bold and courageous?”
“I'm afraid not,” said Edith, after a thoughtful pause. “I know that she loves me like a mother, and when I first came here I should have relied on her to the utmost. But now I don't know. At any rate, I think she can be easily terrified.” And Edith went on to tell about Miss Plympton's letter to her, and subsequent silence.