By this time the Curacao called for discussion, Lancaster had succeeded in putting away all thoughts of the cheerless philosophy of laughter that he had come to consider at once his salvation and his curse, and was quietly, even hopefully, contemplating the chances in his intended interview with Dorothy Ware.
It was all a question, he had now assured himself, of whether she loved him or not. If not, then all other things were of no consequence. If she did, but yet denied the possibilities of their union, he would venture all things to scatter her arguments to the ground. Nothing else need matter, so she loved him. Who was he that he should ask of any woman the question: What art thou?
He had a hansom called and bade the man drive North. The fierceness was changed a little in the face of the town; it was now the fierceness for pleasure, rather than for riches. Everywhere there were couples hurrying to the theatre, the opera, the concert. Carriages drove swiftly through the glaring streets. The restaurants seemed shining with the eagerness of expectancy. Men in evening clothes walked along, smoking, laughing and chatting. The newsboys were gone; in their stead was a miserable, skirmishing band of Italian tots, who used the papers they carried more as an aid to mendicancy than as stock in trade.
It came to Lancaster for an instant, that he might tell the driver to head for the Auditorium; he might go in and hear that charming Santuzza whose acquaintance he had made and enjoyed abroad. He might send her his card; there would be a renewal of pleasant fascinations, forgetfulness of all other things—and laughter! He lifted up his arm, to tap for the driver's attention; his cuff caught in the window-curtain, and the accident, slight as it was, recalled him to himself. He shuddered a little; the things that shaped the courses of men's lives, he thought, were so absurdly insignificant!
When the cab stopped in front of the house that the Wares occupied when Lancaster was last in town, a flood of brilliant light flooded out upon it from the windows and the hall. It was evident that there was an entertainment in progress. Could it be that they had moved? Lancaster, paying the cabman, told him to wait for a moment, for further orders.
But the maid, answering Lancaster's ring, settled the doubt in his mind. Miss Ware, she said, was receiving. He gave his name, dismissed the driver, and entered, feeling a little annoyed at having fallen upon such an occasion.
But presently Miss Ware appeared, radiant in a rosehued gown, and wistful happiness shining in her eyes.
"We thought you were thousands of miles away," she smiled. "What a will-o'-the-wisp you are! Mother will be ever so glad. We are going back to Lincolnville soon, you must know; and this is our farewell reception. Everyone has been so kind to us; we felt we must do something in return."
"To think," she added, looking up at him shyly, "that the occasion should bring out such a lion!"
"Don't!" he implored. "Do you really think they'll know—anything about me? They do? Then, for goodness sake I'm someone else—anyone! For I do detest—"