[CHAPTER V.]
VANISHED.
Glynn was far from being satisfied with his own decision. Of course the mere fact of having any woman offered to him is enough to make an Englishman reject her, were she an amalgamation of the Blessed Virgin, Florence Nightingale, Venus, and Psyche in one. That he should decline Lambert's suggestion was right enough, though the evident singleness of purpose, the intense fatherly feeling which prompted him, took from his strange proceeding all trace of coarse worldliness; but having congratulated himself on his own wisdom and firmness, another train of thought put itself in motion, haunting him with maddening pertinacity in all his comings and goings throughout the day which succeeded the memorable conversation. Elsie's face, her eyes, the quiet grace of her figure and movements, were perpetually before him. Her tender gravity, which did not prevent her from enjoying in brief light flashes of perception the droll side of things, the generous sympathy, ever ready to well up when needed,—all this was vividly present to his imagination. Had he done well to turn from so rich a store of goodly gifts because it was set in uncouth surroundings? Was it the part of a true man to count the cost, to shrink from any possible risk, rather than to brave all things for true love? When and where should he find a companion so sweet, so intelligent, so satisfying to heart and sense? Then again came the doubt,—would it be well to plant in the midst of one's home and its sanctities this branch of a wild vine, lovely though it was? Might not sorrow and disgraceful associations be the bitter fruit thereof? How would imperfect human nature—imperfect human love, stand such a test? If Elsie loved him, then he would dare all things; but she did not. It would be better for her, as well as for him, to leave her in the tranquillity of indifference than awaken an interest that could only lead to trouble. Yes, he would continue to preserve the tone of quiet friendliness he had adopted. Still he must not leave Paris immediately. He would not desert poor Lambert, who was evidently in a mess of some kind. Later on he would probably make a clean breast of it. So as it was Friday, Glynn determined to go to Madame Davilliers' in the evening, for the result of his wise cogitations was a burning desire to meet Miss Lambert to assure himself of her indifference.
The gathering at Madame Davilliers' was less crowded than usual; still a considerable number of visitors were present, among them one or two professional singers and Mr. Vincent, who was talking to Elsie when Glynn made his appearance. He was soon called away, however, by the hostess, and Glynn eagerly took his place.
Elsie greeted him with a bright amused smile, as though his presence suggested some droll idea.
"I don't see your father here to-night," said Glynn.
"He has been called rather suddenly to Dunkerque," she replied, "but will return on Monday. He seemed in better spirits, and I think the change will do him good."
"I hope so, especially as you reflect his moods. You are looking more like yourself than when I first returned."
"Ah, I was very miserable then. But one reason why I feel so much brighter is that my father has promised I shall go for a few months to Mrs. Kellett, to my old home, Woodburn, and then we shall give up our étage here."
"And how will you bear the seclusion—the change from Parisian gaieties?" looking earnestly into her eyes, and wondering what motive underlay this sudden scheme.