“Not one word. I begin to credit a suggestion that you once made me—that Will Harcourt has crossed the ocean,” Roma replied.
“Then I will cause advertisements to be inserted in all the leading papers in the capital cities of Europe.”
“I have already done so, and am waiting results. I have another source of anxiety. I have not heard from Mrs. Harcourt since you left, and you know the reason why I cannot write to inquire.”
“Yes; I will do so to-day. Hanson has not shown up in any way, I suppose?”
“No. I have seen no notice of him or his yacht since that one we both read late in November. Pray, dear friend, never mention the creature’s name in my presence again. I wish to forget his existence.”
“His sister, your old schoolmate and bosom friend. She was a fine girl. What of her?”
“She was not his sister, nor even his half-sister, thank heaven! He was only the stepson of her stepfather by a former marriage. Reba is traveling in Europe, and our correspondence happily suspended without any painful explanations.”
“That is well. And now, my dear, I must leave you, as I have a very busy day before me,” said the lawyer as he shook hands with her and withdrew.
Four days later he brought a letter from Miss Wynthrop, saying that Mrs. Harcourt’s condition was unchanged, and that her mind was principally occupied with anticipations of seeing her dear son, who, as she told everybody, was pursuing his law studies in the University of Virginia, but would come and spend his Easter holidays with her.
“Evidently she has forgotten all about the marriage at which she was present, and apparently all about my existence. That may be well. But if she had only forgotten the marriage, and not forgotten me, I might still write to her, still comfort her, as the betrothed of her son,” said Roma with a sigh.