“Where to, lady?” asked the chauffeur, and she whispered a reply that Frank did not hear.
The door banged, the machine started, and he stood gazing after the taxi with his heart in his eyes as lonely in that gay, bustling throng as though stranded on a desert shore.
The world is naught when one is gone
Who was the world. Then the heart breaks
That this is last that once was won.
He hurried to his bachelor lodgings. He had written to his servants to make ready for his coming. From there he wrote, by and by, the note to Cora announcing his return, and his intention of calling on her that evening. He hurried to Mrs. Dalrymple’s mansion that evening, but while he waited for Cora’s entrance, a sad-faced servant informed him that she would be with him as soon as she could leave her aunt, who was so ill that she was not expected to survive the night.
A rush of surprise and grief over this startling news drove his own troubles, temporarily, from the young man’s mind.
Five minutes later Cora hurried into the room, superbly attired, dabbing her eyes with a damp handkerchief, inwardly thankful that this show of grief would account for the vanished luster of her once bright orbs.
“Frank, dearest!” she cried, throwing herself upon his breast.
They sat down a little apart from each other by his own maneuver, while he said anxiously: