Part 43 (1/2)

Amelia was overcome. Her grat.i.tude was speechless some days, and at others broke into torrents of words.

”I can have aunt to live with me back in the dear old home,” she said, once.

To Amelia the crimson-satin boudoir, and the negro figures, and the bears, and the stained-gla.s.s window are all household G.o.ds, and far be it from me to wish to disillusionize her.

And I? I can take my household G.o.ds to a more congenial setting, perhaps. Who can tell? With the summer coming on and the birds singing it would be useless for me to pretend to grieve any more. A joy lives always in my heart. Some day--not too soon, but some day--I shall see Antony.

I shall never hurry matters. If he cares for me as deeply as I once thought, he will write to me soon or make some sign. Meanwhile--oh, I am free! Free and rich and young again! The shadows are fading away.

Grandmamma was right.

”Remember, above all things, that life is full of compensations.”

Dear grandmamma! I wish you could come back to enjoy this second youth with me.

Shall I travel? It is late June now. Shall I go and see the world, or shall I wait, and perhaps, later on, have a companion to see it with me?

To avoid the Coronation festivities, when all details about my transfer of Augustus's property to Amelia were finished, I went over to France. I should stop at Versailles for a month and see the Marquis in Paris, and then, perhaps, go back to the cottage.

I had often heard from Lady Tilchester--charming, sympathetic, feminine letters. I must come to them at Harley whenever I decided to go out a little, she said. I felt the whole of the world was opening fairly for me.

I stopped a day or two in Paris to do a little shopping on my way to Versailles, and coming down the steps at Ritz one day I met Mr. Budge.

He had come over for a breath of gayer air, he told me, after the Coronation fiasco.

”You are looking wonderfully well,” he said, ”and not quite fifty years old now.”

”I am hardly more than thirty,” I informed him, ”and hope, if the weather keeps fine, to grow a little younger still.”

He said he was glad to hear it, and prayed I would let him come and see the process.

”One grows in the night, when one is asleep,” I said, ”so no one can see it. But if you would care to take tea with me in the afternoon, I shall be very pleased to see you.”

He came the next day.

We talked gravely, as was befitting my mourning. He gave me news of my friends at Harley.

Lady Tilchester, he said, had a new scheme on hand for the employment of the returning volunteers whose places in business had been filled up in their absence. She was absorbed in this undertaking, but when not too busy was more charming than ever.

”I spent a Sunday at Harley a couple of weeks ago.” he said. ”I don't think many of the people were there that you met before--none, I believe, but Sir Antony Thornhirst.”

”And how was he?” I tried to say as naturally as possible.

”He seemed in the best of health and spirits. There is an intelligent person, if you like. I wish he would enter Parliament.”

”But Sir Antony is a Tory, I understand, Mr. Budge! He would be no use to you,” I said.

”Yes, indeed, he would. We want some brilliancy just now in the House to wake us up. It does not matter which side it comes from.”

”Don't you think he is too casual to care enough about it? He would not give himself the trouble to enter Parliament, I believe.”