“Then we have now no more to say to each other,” observed Perdita, rising from her seat, and mechanically drawing the muslin wrapper around her, in such a manner that it displayed all the full proportions of her fine figure.
Mr. Hatfield bowed a negative,—then immediately added, “But perhaps you will have no objection, madam, to remain here until my son shall have made his preparations for departure?”
“Oh! certainly.” cried the young woman, her lip curling haughtily. “Think not, sir, that I shall condescend to use any arts in order to win him back to me;—although well aware am I that if I chose to do so, I should speedily behold him languishing at my feet.”
Scarcely were these words uttered, when Rosalie entered the room, and addressing herself to Mr. Hatfield, said, “My master, sir, is waiting for you below.”
The abigail, who was evidently at a loss to comprehend the nature of all that was going on,—though she saw enough to convince her that something very uncommon and unusual was taking place,—retired as soon as she had delivered this message;—and Mr. Hatfield, as he glanced towards Perdita while bowing to take his leave, observed that her countenance had again grown marble-like with pallor.
For now that the conviction that Charles was really gone was forced upon her mind, a pang of regret struck to her heart,—regret to lose one—the first—whom she had ever really loved;—and for a few instants she felt as if all her affection for him had suddenly revived with tenfold violence.
But this weakness on her part was speedily dissipated: her pride resumed its empire,—and she remembered likewise that her connexion with him had not only put her in possession of a large sum of ready money, but had likewise assured her of a handsome annual income for the remainder of her days.
Thus, almost before Mr. Hatfield had reached the room-door, the colour had returned to her cheeks,—and her countenance became radiant with triumph,—for she murmured to herself, as she contrasted her present position with that in which she had first set foot on European soil, “It is my beauty that has done all this!”
CHAPTER CLIII.
FATHER AND SON.
Mr. Hatfield found his son waiting for him in the coffee-room; and, entering the citadine, or one-horse hackney-coach, in which the former had arrived, they proceeded to the hotel at which he had put up, and which was in the Place Vendôme.