"
Isabel eyed Ida sharply and suspiciously.
"Oh, well, of course, if you don't like to tell me," she said, with a
little toss of her head; "but perhaps it's too soon; when we know each
other better you'll be more open. I'm sure I shall be glad of someone
to tell things to."
She sighed, and looked down with a sentimental air; but Ida did not
rise to the occasion; and with a sigh of disappointment, and a last
look round, so that nothing should escape her, Isabel took her
departure, and Ida was left in peace.
Tired as she was, it was some time before she could get to sleep. The
change in her life had come so suddenly that she felt confused and
bewildered. It had not needed Joseph Heron's mention of Sir Stephen
Orme's name to bring Stafford to her mind; for he was always present
there; and she lay, with wide-open eyes and aching heart, repeating to
herself the letter he had sent her, and wondering why he who, she had
thought, loved her so passionately, had left her. Compared with this
sorrow, and that of her father's death, the smaller miseries of her
present condition counted as naught.
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