Nothing has gone wrong here?" "Nothing whatever," replied Ireton. Something drew you. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work.
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