Grace was silent. Her friend's cynicism grated on her. She turned her head away afraid that the expression on her face might betray her. How often she thought words uttered in jest hit upon the truth! She did not tell Mrs. Stuart that she was just as anxious to have news of Armitage as was her father. Strangely enough, her return home, which she thought would fill her with joy, had failed to give her all the happiness she expected. Once more she was enjoying the social prestige, all the luxuries that her father's position and money secured for her, yet there were moments when she missed those days on Hope Island when her greatest ambition was to prepare a satisfactory meal for her companion's return.
She wondered if she would ever see him again. She knew why he had disappeared. He understood that there could never be anything between them. They belonged to different worlds. She had returned to hers; he to his. She would not have expected anything else of him. She would have been disappointed in him if he had done anything else. He was not the kind of man to come round, hat in hand, and ask payment for his services. No matter how poor he might be, he was too proud for that, and secretly in her heart she rejoiced to think that the man she cared for was of that stamp.
Of course, their little love-affair was a thing of the past. When she thought of it she felt inclined to laugh, it was so preposterously out of keeping with her social position. Probably she would never see him again. She would try not to, because, secretly, she was afraid of herself. She was afraid that if she saw him again and heard his voice, if ever again he spoke to her as he had on that island, she would be tempted to throw herself into his arms, no matter what her position or how it might wreck her future. She remembered the story Professor Hanson had told her of a girl of good family marrying an Indian. She recalled the stories she had seen in the papers of rich girls running away with their coachmen. She could understand those things now. There was something in these men, some strange magnetic power, that made girls love them for themselves, regardless of the disastrous consequences.
Mr. Harmon was listening with rapture to the flattering comments on all sides, on his daughter's improved appearance, when suddenly the English butler approached him and said quietly:
"May I speak to you a minute, Sir?"
"Yes, Hawkins, what is it?" answered Mr. Harmon impatiently.
"There's some one down-stairs to see you, Sir."
"Some one to see me?" echoed Mr. Harmon. "Go and tell him to come up—like all the rest."
The butler did not budge. He had been in service boy and man for over forty years, and he thought he knew what kind of people were privileged to enter his master's home as guests.
"Didn't you hear me?" repeated Mr. Harmon. "Go and tell him to come up."