Part 8 (2/2)
George, when the curtain fell again, sat down by Frances.
”Mother,” he said.
”Yes, George.” Her eyes were bright and attentive, but her countenance had fallen into hard lines new to him.
”I went to Morgan's this afternoon. You have been very liberal to us.”
”I will do what I can. You may depend upon that amount, regularly.”
He rose and bade them good-night, and turned to her again.
”We--we are coming to-morrow to thank you. MOTHER?” There was a hoa.r.s.e sob in his throat. He laid his hand on her arm. She moved so that it dropped. ”We will come to-morrow,” he said. ”Did you understand?
Lisa wishes to be friends with you. She is ready to forgive,” he groped on, blundering, like a man.
”Oh, yes, I understand. You and Lisa are coming to forgive me to-morrow,” she said, smiling.
He looked at her, perplexed and waiting. But she said no more.
”Well, I must go now. Good-night.”
”Good-night, George!” Her bright, smiling eyes followed him steadily, as he went out.
Mrs. Waldeaux tapped at Clara's door that evening after they reached home.
”I came to tell you that I shall leave London early in the morning,”
she said.
”You will not wait to see George and his wife?”
”I hope I never shall see them again. No! Not a word! I will hear no arguments!” She came into the room and closed the door. There was a certain novel air of decision and youth in her figure and movements.
”I am going to make a change, Clara,” she said. ”I have worked for others long enough. I am going away now, alone. I will be free. I will live my own life--at last.” Her eyes shone with exultation.
”And---- Where are you going?” stammered Miss Vance, dismayed.
”I don't know. There is so much--it has all been waiting so long for me. There are the cathedrals--and the mountains. Or the Holy Land.
Perhaps I may try to write again. There seems to be a dumb word or two in me. Don't be angry with me, Clara,” throwing her arms about her cousin, the tears rus.h.i.+ng to her eyes. ”I may come back to you and little Lucy some time. But just now I want to be alone and fancy myself young. I never was young.”
When Lucy stole into her old friend's chamber the next morning as usual to drink her cup of coffee with her, she found the door open and the room in disorder, and she was told that Mrs. Waldeaux had left London at daybreak.
CHAPTER VII
During the year which followed, Mr. Perry was forced to return to the States, but he made two flying trips across ”the pond,” as he called it, in the interests of his magazine, always running down his prey of notorieties in that quarter of Europe in which Miss Vance and her charges chanced to be.
When he came in July he found them in a humble little inn in Bozen. He looked with contempt at the stone floors, the clean cell-like chambers, each with its narrow bed, and blue stone ewer perched on a wooden stool; and he sniffed with disgust when breakfast was served on a table set out in the Platz.
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