"You shall have the discharge," cried Bennet, "as soon as it can be prepared. Does that content you?"
"Yes," said Kitty, and there was a pause.
"My proposed marriage to you," said Kitty, speaking again, "will bring about some changes. It is quite plain that I can stay no longer at Ivydene with the Eversleighs—they will not understand why I am acting as I am doing, and, indeed, they must not suspect why it is. I shall have to invent some plea—some excuse. Until I have gone—for I must go—I do not wish them to know that I am to marry you. Francis Eversleigh will know, but none of the rest need know until I have left Surbiton."
"Where do you think of going?" inquired Bennet. "You must not go far away."
"I have a distant relative—a second cousin of my father's—in Yorkshire. She is an elderly lady, and has more than once asked me to pay her a visit. It is to her that I shall go. Indeed, there is no other to whom I could go; she is the only relative that I have in the world."
"Yorkshire is a long way off," said Bennet.
"I can think of nothing else," she said.
"You will let me know what you decide," said Bennet, after an interval of silence.
"Yes. I'll write you. And now good-bye," said Kitty; "I feel tired and worn out."
When Bennet had gone, Kitty braced herself for the painful tasks which lay before her. First of all, she told Mrs. Eversleigh that she was going to Yorkshire next day, and though Mrs. Eversleigh said very little, the girl saw that she was hurt, offended, and greatly mystified. And Helen Eversleigh, Kitty could not but notice, thought her conduct strange. But neither of the Eversleigh ladies pressed her for an explanation, for which Kitty was thankful.