She did not know what to do with her blank and ruined life, and her empty heart whose idols all lay shattered in the dust.
So she went her way in silence, not caring to look back, not daring to look forward. For what was left to her now? Nothing but life in a world that seemed to have ended for her forever—life "more pathetic than death."
So, as she turned her dim eyes away from the gallant ship that was bearing Lora so swiftly away from her native land, she said in a voice that was sadder than tears:
"Let us go home, mother."
And while Lora went sailing away over the blue summer sea, beneath the smiling sky of June, they turned their faces homeward.
"Aunt Egerton!"
"Yes, dear," said the elegant woman of fashion, rising with a rustling of silk and lace to greet her niece. "It is I. I came early on purpose to go with you and see little Lora off, but you were already gone. I would have followed you, but they told me I should be too late. So I waited for you here."
Then she rustled back to her seat again and there ensued an embarrassed silence.
For this was the first time that Mrs. Egerton had crossed the threshold since the story of Xenie's revenge and its ultimate failure had become known to the carping world.