"I don't know," said Dolly. "I can't tell about father. I don't know when he will be persuaded to leave England."
She looked doubtful and troubled now. Possible difficulties and hindrances began to loom up before her, never looked at until then. What if her father would not go? What if he persisted in staying by the companions who were his comrades in temptation? Could she go away and leave him to them? and leave her mother to him? Here offered itself another sort of self-sacrifice, to which nothing could be objected except its ruinous effect upon her own future. Nay, not her own future alone; but what of that? "Fais que dois advienne que pourra." It all swept through Dolly's head with the speed, and something of the gloom, of a whirlwind.
"I don't know anything about his movements," she repeated anxiously. "Only, mother and I cannot get him away."
"In that case, I will come to England for you."
"Oh no!" said Dolly, shaking her head; "that would not do. I could not leave him and mother here."
"Why not?"
Dolly was silent. She could not tell him why not.
"Would it be more difficult here, than to leave them in America?" Mr. Shubrick asked, the smile upon his lips checked by the very troubled expression of Dolly's face.
"It would not be 'difficult' here; it would be impossible."
"May I ask, why more impossible, or difficult, than in America?"