He laughed when the waiter gave him my lady's letter; he turned triumphantly to his wife.
"This is from my mother," he said; "I knew she would relent, it is probably to ask us to Cawdor."
But as he read it his face changed; the smile and the triumph died from it. He said no word to Leone, but tore the letter into shreds. She looked on with a wistful face.
"Is it from your mother, Lance?" she asked.
He took her in his arms and kissed her.
"My darling, do not trouble about them; you are all the world to me. They will not forgive me; but it does not matter. I am proud of what I have done. I am quite independent. I shall take a pretty little villa at Richmond, and we shall live there until they come to their senses."
"That will be giving up all the world for me," she said.
"The world will be well lost, Leone. We will go to-morrow and find a pretty little house where we shall be quite happy. Remember one thing always—that my mother will love you when she sees you."
"Then let her see me now, Lance, at once," she cried, eagerly, "if you think so. Why wait? I should be more happy than any one else in the world if you would do that."
"It is too soon yet," he replied; "all will be right in time."