No orders had been given in preparation for the funeral, and she felt that she had no right to give any.

The earls of Mount Severn were buried at Mount Severn; but to take her father thither would involve great expense; would the present earl sanction that?
Since the previous morning, she seemed to have grown old in the world's experience; her ideas were changed, the bent of her thoughts had been violently turned from its course.

Instead of being a young lady of high position, of wealth and rank, she appeared to herself more in the light of an unfortunate pauper and interloper in the house she was inhabiting.

It has been the custom in romance to present young ladies, especially if they be handsome and interesting, as being entirely oblivious of matter-of-fact cares and necessities, supremely indifferent to future prospects of poverty--poverty that brings hunger and thirst and cold and nakedness; but, be assured, this apathy never existed in real life.

Isabel Vane's grief for her father--whom, whatever may have been the aspect he wore for others, _she_ had deeply loved and reverenced--was sharply poignant; but in the midst of that grief, and of the singular troubles his death had brought forth, she could not shut her eyes to her own future.
Its blank uncertainty, its shadowed-forth embarrassments did obtrude themselves and the words of that plain-speaking creditor kept ringing in her ears: "You won't have a roof to put your head under, or a guinea to call your own." Where was she to go?
With whom to live?
She was in Mr.
Carlyle's house now.