"They are noble people who bear it," observed Miss Hastings. "Lady St. Lawrence was always my ideal of a thoroughbred English gentlewoman. I never heard how it was, but the greater part of their fortune was lost when Sir Arthur died. He left but this one son, Vane; and, although he has the title, he has but little to support it with. I know their family estates were all sold. Lady St. Lawrence has a small fortune of her own; but it is not much."
Again Pauline repeated the name to herself—"Vane St. Lawrence!"—thinking there was a sound as of half-forgotten music in it. That was a name that would have suited the face she had watched on the sands.
"Vane St. Lawrence!"
Unconsciously to herself she had said the words aloud. Miss Hastings looked up quickly.
"Did you speak, my dear?" she asked; and Pauline wondered to find her face suddenly grow warm with a burning blush.
"I think," said Miss Hastings, presently, "that I should like to visit them at once. Lady St. Lawrence may not be staying long, and I should never forgive myself if I were to miss her. Will you come with me, Pauline?"
"Yes, willingly."
She was ready to go anywhere, to do anything, with that great, wonderful love, that great, grand calm, filling her heart and soul.
For the first time the sight of her own magnificent loveliness pleased her.
"I may see him again," she thought to herself with almost child-like simplicity, "and I should like him to think of me."