Oh dear! And it's all about me. Oh, Kitty
darling, what _shall_ I do? There will be something dreadful, I know.
And how shocking to have it about me. And then the newspapers. They'll
all have it. And the reporters. Oh dear! Kitty, why _don't_ you say
something?"
"Why, Minnie dearest, I really don't know what to say."
"But, darling, you must say something. And then that Scone Dacres. I'm
more afraid of him than any body. Oh, I know he's going to _kill_ some
one. He is so big. Oh, if _you_ had only been on his back, Kitty
darling, and had him run down a steep mountain-side, you'd be as
awfully afraid of him as I am. Oh, how I _wish_ Lord Hawbury would
drive them off, or somebody do something to save me."
"Would you rather that Lord Hawbury would stay, or would you like him
to go too?"
"Oh dear! I don't care. If he would only go quietly and nicely, I
should like to have him go too, and never, never see a man again
except dear papa. And I think it's a shame. And I don't see why I
should be so persecuted. And I'm tired of staying here. And I don't
want to stay here any more. And, Kitty darling, why shouldn't we all
go to Rome?"
"To Rome?"
"Yes."
"Would you prefer Rome?" asked Mrs. Willoughby, thoughtfully.
"Well, yes--for several reasons. In the first place, I must go
somewhere, and I'd rather go there than any where else. Then, you
know, that dear, delightful holy-week will soon be here, and I'm dying
to be in Rome."
"I think it would be better for all of us," said Mrs.
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