The Vicar's pity for himself reached its climax when he considered
that awful alternative. He had been considering it ever since
Rowcliffe had spoken to him about Alice.
It was just like Gwenda to go and get engaged at such a moment, when
he was beside himself.
But he smoothed his face into a smile when she appeared.
"Well, what is it? What is this great thing you've come to tell me?"
It struck him that for the first time in her life Gwenda looked
embarrassed; as well she might be.
"Oh--it isn't very great, Papa. It's only that I'm going away."
"Going--_away_?"
"I don't mean out of the country. Only to London."
"Ha! Going to London--" He rolled it ruminatingly on his tongue.
"Well, if that's all you've come to say, it's very simple. You can't
go."
He bent his knees with the little self-liberating gesture that he had
when he put his foot down.
"But," said Gwenda, "I'm going."
He raised his eyebrows.
"And why is this the first time I've heard of it?"
"Because I want to go without any bother, since I'm going to go."
"Oh--consideration for me, I suppose?"
"For both of us. I don't want you to worry."
"That's why you've chosen a time when I'm worried out of my wits
already."
"I know, Papa. That's why I'm going."
He was arrested both by the astounding statement and by something
unusually placable in her tone. He stared at her as his way was.
Then, suddenly, he had a light on it.
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