“Then they ought not to be so,” replied Isoline, with decision.
She was accustomed to carry about little moral precepts to protect her from difficulties, as other people carried umbrellas to protect them from the rain. When the difficulties came down undeserved upon her head, she would take one out and unfurl it, so to speak.
Mr. Lewis smiled faintly; he had some perception of ironies.
“Do you not think that you are being a little inconsiderate? You may be in trouble, but somehow I do not fancy your trouble is so great as Harry’s.”
His voice had meaning in the last part of his sentence.
A look of dislike shot at him which was hidden by the dusk pervading the room.
“Then I must see him?” she said.
“You can do as you like,” said the Vicar, returning to his book, “but I think you ought to.”
As the door closed behind her he reflected that he had never before come so near to understanding his niece.
Isoline ran up to her room, controlling herself with difficulty as she went; when she reached the door she darted in and locked it.