“What can have become of Cara?” said her mother. “I know she was going to the Convent—it is not like them to keep the child so late. Shall we go and wait in the lounge?”
When the ladies entered, the hall, the concierge came forward with a thin blue telegram, addressed to ‘Mrs. Glyn,’ and handed it to Letty, who tore it open with shaking fingers. As her eyes glanced over the contents, she gave a faint exclamation and dropped the paper. Mrs. Hesketh picked it up instantly, and read:
“Leaving for Paris with father. Good-bye. C. Blagdon.”
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE shock of Cara’s desertion prostrated her mother, and for many days she remained at the Paradis, blanched and shaken, a stricken, ghost-like guest. Her friend (now completely restored) had taken the helm of her life in her hands, and was making rapid preparations for their departure to England.
“My poor dear child,” she said, “I am desperately sorry for you. That your wound is deep, I know. ‘How sharper than the serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child,’ so said old King Lear; all the same, you will get over it.”
“No, never, never!” replied Letty with energetic emphasis; and her voice and face were unrecognisably hard.
“Certainly you will. I speak from experience. When my little boy died——”
“Your boy!” interrupted Letty, lifting her head; “I never knew you had a child!”