"Oh, Mr. Palma!"
He turned as though he had not until now recognized her, but there was no surprise in his stern fixed face.
"I thought Mrs. Brompton resided on West —— Street; had not heard of her change of residence. From the length of your rehearsal you certainly should be perfect in your performance. It is now half-past five, and I think you told me you commenced at one? Rather disagreeable weather for you to be out. Wait here, under this awning, till I come back."
He was absent not more than five minutes, and returned with a close carriage; but a glance sufficed to show her it was not the one she had seen in the neighbourhood of the square.
As he opened the door and beckoned her forward, he took her umbrella, handed her in, and with one keen cold look into her face, said:
"I trust my ward's dinner toilette will be an improvement upon her present appearance, as several guests have been invited. The Cantata must have bored you immensely."
He bowed, closed the door, directed the driven to the number of his residence on Fifth Avenue, and disappeared.
Sinking down in one corner, Regina shut her eyes, and groaned. Could his presence have been accidental? She had given no one a clue in her movements, and how could he have followed her circuitous route after leaving Mrs. Brompton's? He had evinced no surprise, had asked no explanation of her conduct, but would he abstain in future? Was his promise to trust her the cause of his forbearance? Or was it attributable to the fact that his thoughts were concentrated upon the lady with whose name people were associating his?
The strain upon her nerves was beginning to relax; her head ached, her eyes smarted, and she felt sick and faint. Like one in a perplexing dream, she was whirled along the streets, and at last reached home.
The house was already brilliantly lighted, for the day had closed prematurely, with the darkness of the increasing snow, and in the seclusion of her own room the girl threw herself down in a rocking chair.