“It was so dismal there that I left! I am staying out this way.” She pointed in a contrary direction, the direction in which he was journeying.
“Well—are you going there now? I can take you if you wish for a lift.”
Her olive complexion grew richer in hue.
“Thank ’ee, Mr. Clare,” she said.
He soon found the farmer, and settled the account for his rent and the few other items which had to be considered by reason of the sudden abandonment of the lodgings. On Clare’s return to his horse and gig, Izz jumped up beside him.
“I am going to leave England, Izz,” he said, as they drove on. “Going to Brazil.”
“And do Mrs. Clare like the notion of such a journey?” she asked.
“She is not going at present—say for a year or so. I am going out to reconnoitre—to see what life there is like.”
They sped along eastward for some considerable distance, Izz making no observation.
“How are the others?” he inquired. “How is Retty?”
“She was in a sort of nervous state when I zid her last; and so thin and hollow-cheeked that ’a do seem in a decline. Nobody will ever fall in love wi’ her any more,” said Izz absently.
“And Marian?”
Izz lowered her voice.
“Marian drinks.”