"They belong to my son," said Lady St. Lawrence, with a smile.
There were Tennyson, Keats, and Byron, and written inside of each, in a bold, clear hand, was the name "Vane St. Lawrence." Pauline lost herself again in the sweet story of Elaine, from which she was aroused at intervals by the repetition of the words—"My son Vane."
She could not help hearing some part of Lady St. Lawrence's confidential communication, and it was to the effect how deeply she deplored the blindness of her son, who might marry his cousin Lillith Davenant, one of the wealthiest heiresses in England. Miss Hastings was all kindly sympathy.
"It would be such an excellent thing for him," continued Lady St. Lawrence; "and Lillith is a very nice girl. But it is useless counseling him; Vane is like his father. Sir Arthur, you know, always would have his own way."
Pauline began to feel interested in this Vane St. Lawrence, who refused to marry the wealthy heiress because he did not love her.
"He must be somewhat like me," she said to herself with a smile.
Then the conversation changed, and Lady St. Lawrence began to speak of her daughter Laura and her children. Pauline returned to Elaine, and soon forgot everything else.
She was aroused by a slight stir. She heard Lady St. Lawrence say:
"My dear Vane, how you startled me!"
Looking up, she saw before her the same face that had engrossed her thoughts and fancy!