"Good-bye, Marian," he said. "I suppose we are never likely to meet again."
"One never knows what may happen; but I think it is far better we should not meet, for many reasons."
"What am I to tell your grandfather when I see him?"
"That I will come to him as soon as I can get my husband's permission to do so."
"I should not think there would be any difficulty about that, when he knows that this relationship is likely to bring you fortune."
"I daresay not."
"And if you come to London to see Mr. Nowell, there will be some chance of our meeting again."
"What good can come of that?"
"Not much to me, I daresay. It would be a desperate, melancholy kind of pleasure. Anything is better than the idea of losing sight of you for ever—of leaving this room to-day never to look upon your face again."
He wrote Jacob Nowell's address upon one of his own cards, and gave it to Marian; and then prepared to take his departure. He had an idea that the bailiff's daughter would conduct him to the gate, and that he would be able to make some inquiries about Mr. Holbrook on his way. It is possible that Marian guessed his intentions in this respect; for she offered to go with him to the gate herself; and he could not with any decency refuse to be so honoured.