'Quite true, my dear.'
'Another foreign gentleman, of course?'
'Why of course? No, I am going to rise in the world. I am going to marry an English colonel, Isabel, and return to my own land. I believe I told him that was my chief reason for accepting him at first.'
'But not at last?' hazarded Mrs. Fordyce, with a teasing smile.
'Well, no; romance is not dead yet, Isabel. But I shall tell you my story by and by. Here we are.'
The carriages rattled across the market-place, and drew up before one of the quaint, grey, green-shuttered houses. The concierge rose lazily from his chair within the shadow of the court, and showed himself at the door. The ladies alighted, and were ushered into the small plain abode where Madame Bonnemain had so long struggled for existence. All were charmed with it and with her. She made them feel at home at once. Often Gladys looked at her, and felt her heart drawn towards her. Yes, with that bright, sympathetic little woman, she could be happy at Bourhill. But somewhat late that night Mrs. Fordyce came into her room and sat down by her bed.
'My dear, are you asleep? We have come on a fruitless errand; Madame Bonnemain cannot come to you. She is going to be married almost immediately, so what are we to do now?'
'It is a great disappointment,' said Gladys. 'I like her so much. Yes, what are we to do now?'
'You must just come to us for another winter, Gladys; there is nothing else for it.'
Gladys lay still a moment, revolving something in her mind.