They had gone without even stopping for their hats, and left her wholly to the servants. Even when they had come home, late at night, in their own carriage, it was over half an hour before Aunt Francesca came to her room, so overburdened with selfish grief that she did not even listen to the recital of Isabel's numerous bruises.
Perhaps it would be best to go away, though the city was terrible in Summer, and she had only money enough to take her to the hotel where her mother retained a suite of three rooms. If Aunt Francesca and Rose would leave her alone in the house long enough, and she could pack a suit-case and get the carriage just in time to take her to the train, she could write a formal note and ask to have the rest of her things sent by express. If there were a late train, or one very early in the morning, she could probably manage it, even without the carriage, but, on consulting the time-table, she found that trains did not run at hours suitable for escape.
However, it was just as well to pack while she had time. She could keep the suit-case hidden until the auspicious moment arrived. It would only take a moment to open it and sweep her toilet articles into it from the top of her dresser.
She had just taken a fresh shirtwaist out of the drawer when there was a light, determined rap at the door. When she opened it, she was much astonished to see Aunt Francesca come in, dressed for a drive.
"Are you almost ready, Isabel?" she asked, politely.
"Ready," gasped the girl. "For what?"
It seemed for the moment as though she had been anticipated in her departure and was about to be put out of the house.
"To drive over to Kent's," answered Madame, imperturbably. From her manner one would have thought the drive had been long planned.
Isabel sat down on her bed. "I'm not going," she said.
"Oh, yes, you are," returned Madame, in a small, thin voice. "You may go in your tea gown and slippers if you prefer, but I will wait until you dress, if you are quick about it."