HE went to sleep as soon as he could—which was not very soon; and woke up, with a sob, from a dream in which they were both very miserable. It was an hour earlier than his usual time for rising, and, as he went into the park, the birds were singing quite as they might have sung in the country.
On considering her note critically, he did not think it so hopeless as it had seemed in the night. And again he repaired to his office. Business was very good at this time, and Vane was rapidly becoming rich.
He waited many days for a chance to speak to her; and finally the chance arrived, at an evening party. Curiously enough, he was more afraid of her in a simple morning frock, worn in her own house, with the little edging of white lace around the throat, than in evening dress, in all the splendor of her woman’s beauty. He did not like her so well with bare neck, and bare arms, and a sweeping cloud of white about her, and white satin slippers. She was more like the other women one could meet in the world. She looked at him coldly; but none the less did he determine to speak to her. Her partner left her at once; and Vane led her into the embrasure of a window.
“I want you to forgive me my question of the other afternoon.”
Miss Thomas made no answer.
“You would, if you knew my excuse.”
“I don’t see what possible excuse there can be,” she said, gravely.
“There is one—and the best of all excuses,” he added, in a lower tone.
“I do not understand you.”
“Are you sure?” said Vane, with a low laugh.