Mrs. Beresford had indeed hinted to her son that a certain fair English dame, a dainty Lady Maud whom he had met the previous year, was not indifferent to him, and would be a very welcome daughter-in-law.
But her son had answered, with the indifference of ill-health and an aching heart:
“I would not want her though she were ‘the daughter of a hundred earls!’”
And his father had whispered to his wife:
“Leave the lad alone awhile. His grief is too fresh and new to bear consolation yet. Time will bring the only balm—forgetfulness.”
So when St. George renewed the subject of going home, they did not say him nay.
They, too, were anxious to return, and by the middle of July had engaged their state-rooms on a steamer of the fastest line.
Bidding farewell to all their little coterie of English friends at Brighton, they were soon en route for home and Alva.
St. George was gaining strength but slowly, and his large, dark eyes looked out of a wan, pale face, whose expression was too sad for tears.
This home-coming was inexpressibly bitter to his tortured heart, and his pale, grave, handsome face made him an object of romantic interest to all the lady passengers.