She replied to Sir Willoughby, “I have said all.  I cannot explain what I have said.”

She had heard a step in the passage.  Vernon entered.

Perceiving them, he stated his mission in apology:  “Doctor Middleton left a book in this room.  I see it; it’s a Heinsius.”

“Ha! by the way, a book; books would not be left here if they were not brought here, with my compliments to Doctor Middleton, who may do as he pleases, though, seriously, order is order,” said Sir Willoughby.  “Come away to the laboratory, Clara.  It’s a comment on human beings that wherever they have been there’s a mess, and you admirers of them,” he divided a sickly nod between Vernon and the stale breakfast-table, “must make what you can of it.  Come, Clara.”

Clara protested that she was engaged to walk with Miss Dale.

“Miss Dale is waiting in the hall,” said Vernon.

“Miss Dale is waiting?” said Clara.

“Walk with Miss Dale; walk with Miss Dale,” Sir Willoughby remarked, pressingly.  “I will beg her to wait another two minutes.  You shall find her in the hall when you come down.”

He rang the bell and went out.

“Take Miss Dale into your confidence; she is quite trustworthy,” Vernon said to Clara.

“I have not advanced one step,” she replied.

“Recollect that you are in a position of your own choosing; and if, after thinking over it, you mean to escape, you must make up your mind to pitched battles, and not be dejected if you are beaten in all of them; there is your only chance.”

“Not my choosing; do not say choosing, Mr. Whitford.  I did not choose.  I was incapable of really choosing.  I consented.”

“It’s the same in fact.  But be sure of what you wish.”

“Yes,” she assented, taking it for her just punishment that she should be supposed not quite to know her wishes.  “Your advice has helped me to-day.”

“Did I advise?”

“Do you regret advising?”

“I should certainly regret a word that intruded between you and him.”

“But you will not leave the Hall yet?  You will not leave me without a friend?  If papa and I were to leave to-morrow, I foresee endless correspondence.  I have to stay at least some days, and wear through it, and then, if I have to speak to my poor father, you can imagine the effect on him.”

Sir Willoughby came striding in, to correct the error of his going out.

“Miss Dale awaits you, my dear.  You have bonnet, hat?—­No?  Have you forgotten your appointment to walk with her?”

“I am ready,” said Clara, departing.

The two gentlemen behind her separated in the passage.  They had not spoken.

She had read of the reproach upon women, that they divide the friendships of men.  She reproached herself but she was in action, driven by necessity, between sea and rock.  Dreadful to think of! she was one of the creatures who are written about.