Laverne did enjoy the solitude. She was coming to feel that she was watched continually, criticised gently, of course, but often it hurt. And she had not gone down to the real heart of anything. Was there a heart or was it all surface living?
She went out to take her drive each day with her maid. Several young friends had called.
One afternoon Preston brought up a card. "Mr. Victor Savedra," Laverne read.
"He requested especially to see you," Preston said. "I was not sure——" and she glanced inquiringly. "It is all right, quite right," the girl made answer, but her heart was in her throat, her voice husky. She stood there some seconds, fingering the card. Truth to tell, she felt hurt that Victor had made no effort to see her through all this time, knowing from his own family she was in London. It was hardly her place to appeal to him. Indeed, she had soon learned her old friends were not subjects of pleasure to her new relatives. And now she had quite given up hope with a sad heartache.
Laverne walked slowly down the broad staircase, lingered a moment, while she felt her color coming and going in great bounds. Then there was a step, a figure emerged from the reception room, and caught both hands in his. Neither of them spoke, but simply glanced in each other's eyes. He had changed, matured, and was a really handsome young man in the somewhat brilliant Spanish style. But the soft eyes had not lost their olden tenderness.
"Oh," he began, "I was afraid I should never see you again," and the glance seemed almost to devour her.
"You have been in London all this time." There was the faintest touch of reproach in her tone.
"And you? It seems to me if one can credit society news you have been very gay."
She flushed, and her eyes were downcast, the brown lashes making a shadow on her cheek.
"You must not upbraid me. I made some effort to find you. I was so amazed at the strange turn of affairs. Isola and mother wrote to me and begged me to call on you. At last I did learn where you were and sent you a note, directed to your father's care. It was answered by Mrs. Westbury, who explained that you were not in society, a gentle suggestion that I might have been rather forward, also that you were going to some French watering place, but no hint that I might be welcome on your return," and he half smiled.