Captain Desfrayne found, on returning home, that Leonardo Gilardoni had arranged everything perfectly, for the migration of the following day.
He wished to mention to the Italian that Madam Guiscardini had abruptly quitted London, for the sake of observing the effect the news might have, but he could not bring himself voluntarily to pronounce her name.
On the Wednesday morning, he started for Holston, having bade his mother farewell. He had spent Monday and Tuesday evening with her, and promised to write frequently.
After all, the old links did not seem to be so broken as he had feared they would be, and his mother still appeared as she had ever done, all affection and maternal solicitude.
She had some friends in the neighborhood of Holston, and looked forward to being able to obtain an invitation for some weeks there.
Captain Desfrayne mentioned the discovery that Miss Turquand had come into possession of Flore Hall—a discovery that little gratified Mrs. Desfrayne, for the old country-seat had belonged to one of her uncles, who had been ruined by his extravagance.
Probably she would not have been more pleased had any wee bird whispered to her that Lois Turquand’s mother had been lady’s-maid within its walls to the wife of that selfsame wasteful relative. Mr. Vere Gardiner had, in truth, purchased the house and the land belonging to it in the hope of being able to gratify his old love by installing her as mistress where she had once been simply a paid servant.
“There is a fate in it all,” Mrs. Desfrayne said. “How will it end?”
“How should it end, mother?” Paul replied, somewhat sharply. “I suppose we have pretty well seen the end of these unpleasant affairs. The worst has passed.”
Poor fellow! the most bitter draft was yet to come. The end of his fantastical life-story was very far from view.