The parting words had been spoken. Emily and her companion were on their way to London.
For some little time, they traveled in silence—alone in the railway carriage. After submitting as long as she could to lay an embargo on the use of her tongue, Mrs. Ellmother started the conversation by means of a question: “Do you think Mr. Mirabel will get over it, miss?”
“It’s useless to ask me,” Emily said. “Even the great man from Edinburgh is not able to decide yet, whether he will recover or not.”
“You have taken me into your confidence, Miss Emily, as you promised—and I have got something in my mind in consequence. May I mention it without giving offense?”
“What is it?”
“I wish you had never taken up with Mr. Mirabel.”
Emily was silent. Mrs. Ellmother, having a design of her own to accomplish, ventured to speak more plainly. “I often think of Mr. Alban Morris,” she proceeded. “I always did like him, and I always shall.”
Emily suddenly pulled down her veil. “Don’t speak of him!” she said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You don’t offend me. You distress me. Oh, how often I have wished—!” She threw herself back in a corner of the carriage and said no more.