would n't
ever. She had her reasons, which seemed to her very good, but were very
difficult to explain. She would tell Mrs. Portico in plenty of time what
they were. But that was not the question now, whether they were good or
bad; the question was for her to get away from the country for several
months,--far away from any one who had ever known her. She would like
to go to some little place in Spain or Italy, where she should be out of
the world until everything was over.

Mrs. Portico's heart gave a jump as this serene, handsome, familiar
girl, sitting there with a hand in hers, and pouring forth this
extraordinary tale, spoke of everything being over. There was a glossy
coldness in it, an unnatural lightness, which suggested--poor Mrs.
Portico scarcely knew what. If Georgina was to become a mother, it
was to be supposed she was to remain a mother. She said there was a
beautiful place in Italy--Genoa--of which Raymond had often spoken--and
where he had been more than once,--he admired it so much; could n't
they go there and be quiet for a little while? She was asking a great
favor,--that she knew very well; but if Mrs. Portico would n't take her,
she would find some one who would. They had talked of such a journey
so often; and, certainly, if Mrs. Portico had been willing before, she
ought to be much more willing now. The girl declared that she must do
something,--go somewhere,--keep, in one way or another, her situation
unperceived. There was no use talking to her about telling,--she would
rather die than tell. No doubt it seemed strange, but she knew what she
was about. No one had guessed anything yet,--she had succeeded perfectly
in doing what she wished,--and her father and mother believed--as Mrs.
Portico had believed,--had n't she?--that, any time the last year,
Raymond Beuyon was less to her than he had been before. Well, so he was;
yes, he was. He had gone away--he was off, Heaven knew where--in the
Pacific; she was alone, and now she would remain alone. The family
believed it was all over,--with his going back to his ship, and other
things, and they were right: for it _was_ over, or it would be soon.

Mrs. Portico, by this time, had grown almost afraid of her young friend;
_she_ had so little fear, she had even, as it were, so little shame. If
the good lady had been accustomed to analyzing things a little more,
she would have said she had so little conscience. She looked at Georgina
with dilated eyes,--her v