The whistle blew shrilly, the train moved slowly off, and Eustace, with bare head, holding his hat in his hand, stood silently amid the crowd with a vision before his mind's eye of the sweet face with the cold pure light in the blue eyes.
"A statue! a statue," he said again, as he went back to Cemobbio. "It is a foolish passion I have for her, but I dare say a few months' travelling will make me forget that such chilly perfection exists."
On his return to the Villa Medici, he told his valet to pack up everything and be ready to start by the early train next morning, in order to meet Otterburn and leave Milan by the afternoon train for Venice, as Victoria would be at Milan the next day, and Otterburn did not wish to meet her again.
As for that young lady, although she did not care much about Otterburn, yet her self-love received rather a severe shock when she learned how promptly he had taken his dismissal.
"Where is Mr. Macjean?" she asked Eustace that night, after dinner, as he sat smoking outside in the garden.
"He has gone away," replied Eustace, who was anxious to prolong her curiosity as much as he could and let her drag the facts of the case piecemeal from his reluctant mouth.
"Where to?"
"Milan."
Victoria flushed a little under his keen gaze and tapped her foot impatiently on the ground.
"I thought he was going with you to-morrow."