“She did. I am afraid, my little girl, I have not very pleasant news for you. Mr. Fenton is not going to make any provision for Harry which would enable him to marry. In fact, he cannot afford to do it. And such being the case, he will not give his consent.”
She looked out of the window at the fading light.
“Then I suppose there is nothing to be done,” she said, taking up her hat, which she had laid upon a chair as she came in.
He had not expected such entire and unprotesting submission, and he was rather surprised; he watched her as she went to the door, rather expecting to see her composure give some sign of wavering. She paused, her fingers on the handle.
“Uncle,” she began, “I wish I could go away from here for a little.”
“It would not be a bad plan,” said he, after a moment’s thought, “but what can we do? Your aunt is away, you see, and there seems no prospect of her coming back.”
“There is Mrs. Johnson. Could I not go to her? There was an idea of my staying there before it was arranged that I should come here. She has often invited me. You know her, uncle. Could you not ask her to take me for a short time? I want to get away, indeed I do.”
The Vicar thought that he detected emotion in her voice.
“Isoline, are you very unhappy about this? You say so little, my dear. I am so sorry for you, and I wish I could help you.”
“I can bear anything if I can only get away,” said the girl.