“I do believe, if you had three wishes given you, like the people in story-books, one of them would be to catch that man.”
“Certainly it would.”
“Oh, but there is no use in wishing,” said Isoline, shaking her head and feeling quite original.
“Sometimes there is,” said Harry, looking at her. “I wished at the ball to be introduced to you, and I was, you see.”
“Yes, but if you had wished and done nothing else, it would not have happened,” she observed, feeling more original still.
“That is quite true, but, in your case, I was able to do something; I did everything I could in this one, and it was no use. Heavens! how I galloped up those lanes—just a few fields off behind this house too.”
The dark had closed in by this time and the dull flash of the Vicar’s lantern could be seen as he passed the window; he came into the study and stood warming his cold hands at the blaze. Harry rose deferentially.
“Do not move,” said the old man, pushing him back into his seat. “In a few minutes we will go into the other room and you shall explain your father’s business to me. It will not interest you, my dear, so you will excuse us,” he added, with a courtesy which was enhanced by his grey hair.
When they had left her, Isoline remained with her toes upon the fender in a brown study. She also was looking at pictures in the fire, but, whereas Fenton saw people, she only saw things.