He took her abroad, and for a whole year travelled about, showing her much that was best worth seeing in the south of Europe--but seeing _places_ chiefly, people seldom.

In all this time she saw nothing of her cousin George--he had almost fallen out of her acquaintance, and taken the place of a disagreeable memory.
But when she and her father came home, he was there to receive them, and she began to realize that his presence was to be an essential part of her home life.

More than that, she now perceived how distinctly he stood between her and her father--a fact she had forgotten while they were together without him.

The acquaintance and sympathy between them, which had been slowly growing up during their year of travel, froze to death now that he was there; and Mary, at eighteen, found herself completely isolated.
It did not occur to her father that she ought to go into society, or that she needed a chaperone.

Society had lost all its charms for him; and he intended to marry his daughter early, and so give her the best of protection.