Harriet looked at him still, closely and sharply, but she said nothing.
"You are too tired to talk about anything to-night, Harry, I see," said Routh, with good humour which did not sit on him very naturally, "so we will not talk. But would it be possible for you to be ready to start in the morning?"
"Yes," said Harriet, quietly, and without showing the least surprise by voice or countenance, "I will have everything ready."
Homburg von der Höhe was graced for only a few days longer by the beautiful American. Her pony-carriage and the gray ponies, the French groom, the luxurious wrappings, the splendid vision of satin, and lace, and jewels, all disappeared, and the Schwarzchild mansion was for a while desolate, until again occupied by the numerous progeny of a rich and rusty Queen's counsel.
It was understood that Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridge had returned to Paris. "Every season is the right season for Paris with those Americans," said a contemptuous Briton, who secretly held himself aggrieved by the abrupt departure of the handsome widow, who had never appeared more than conscious of his existence, certainly not interested in the fact; "it draws them like a loadstone."
"She has evidently heard nothing of Arthur," said Mr. Felton to his nephew, "or she would have sent us word."
He spoke timidly, and glanced at George with anxious eyes. George looked undisguisedly serious and troubled.
"I wish your letters had arrived, uncle," he replied. "I begin to fear we shall not see Arthur here; and--and to be sorry that so much time has been lost."
A week later George Dallas wrote to Harriet Routh from Paris as follows:
"Hôtel du Louvre, Paris, October.