“I cannot understand the matter at all,” said the Countess, as she returned the letter. “I will write to Mr. Glynne at once. Come and see me day after to-morrow. Mr. Glynne will probably write me that her departure was postponed for some good reason.”
Jack forgot his promise, or rather statement, to his father, that he did not intend to visit Paris to engage in its frivolities. In his state of mind some distraction was absolutely necessary. “If I cannot stop thinking I shall go mad,” he said to himself, and he at once became immersed in the whirl of gaiety for which Paris is famous, though his interest therein was of the head rather than of heart.
On the appointed day he called on the Countess Mont d’Oro, but there was no letter from England. On the third day the Countess again shook her head, but on the fourth, in response to his inquiring glance, she said:
“I have a letter, but I am afraid to read it to you.”
“I can bear anything better than this suspense,” said Jack.
Then the Countess read Mr. Glynne’s letter.
“Dear Madam:
“Your letter received. I should have answered it sooner but for the dangerous illness of my son, who is at death’s door. In reply to your inquiry, I can only say that I have been informed by what I consider good authority that my ward, Miss Renville, left for London, in company with my son’s wife, on their way to Paris, your residence being their presumed destination. Instead of taking the boat from Dover to Calais, which would have offered a safe and speedy passage, for some as yet unexplained reason they chose to make the voyage in a fishing vessel which was run down in the Channel, and all on board, with the exception of the captain’s son, were drowned. I regret that I cannot give you any further particulars. If I learn anything more concerning the sad affair, I shall be pleased to communicate with you. I have the honour to be, dear madam,
“Your most obedient servant,
“Thomas Glynne.”
“Drowned!” cried Jack, “and I loved her so. Oh, madam, this blow would be easier to bear if, when I had the opportunity, I had told her that I loved her. I think she knew it, but I did not speak. I was the second son of an earl with no prospect but a minor position in the Navy. My brother is dead and I am now heir to the title and estates. You knew this, of course, before, but I tell you again to show you how foolish I was not to speak when I had the chance. All would have come out right; now all has gone wrong, and I am the one to blame. If I had told her that I loved her and we had been engaged, she never would have made the trip in this foolish way. Yes, madam, I am to blame and I shall never forgive myself.”