Anxious thoughts were passing through the mind of Thomas Godolphin. We cannot put aside the _convenances_ of life; though there are times when they press upon us with an iron weight. He would have given almost his own life to take Ethel from that house: but how was he to do it? No friend would be likely to receive her: not even his own sisters: they would have too much dread of the infection she might bring with her. He would fain have carried her off to some sea-breezed town, and watch over her and guard her there, until the danger should be over. None would have protected her more honourably than Thomas Godolphin. But--those _convenances_ that the world has to bow down to! how would the step have agreed with them? Another thought, little less available for common use, passed through his mind.
"Listen, Ethel!" he whispered. "It would be only to procure a license, and half an hour spent at All Souls with Mr. Hastings. It could be all done, and you away with me before nightfall."
She scarcely understood his meaning. Then, as it dawned upon her, she bent her head and her blushing face, laughing at the wild improbability.
"Oh, Thomas! Thomas! you are only joking. What would people say?"
"Would it make any difference to us what they said?"
"It could _not be_, Thomas," she whispered seriously; "it is as an impossible vision. Were all other things meet, how could I run away from my sister, on her bed of sickness, to marry you?"
Ethel was right: and Thomas Godolphin felt that she was so. Punctilios must be observed, no matter at what cost. He held her fondly to his heart.
"If aught of ill should arise to you from your remaining here, I shall blame myself as long as life shall last. My love! my love!"
Mr. Godolphin could not linger. He must be at the bank, for Saturday was their most busy day of all the week: it was market-day at Prior's Ash: though he had stolen a moment to leave it when the imperfect news reached him. George was in the private room alone when he entered. "Shall you be going to Lady Godolphin's Folly this evening, George?" he inquired.
"The Fates permitting," replied Mr. George, who was buried five fathoms deep in business; though he would have preferred to be five fathoms deep in pleasure. "Why?"