And yet, with all the fond dissimulation of Eve’s family, Elaine Willoughby was serenely radiant that night as the cautious Hathorn led the “open-hearted fellow” into the splendors of the Circassia. “This plan of mine will work,” mused Hathorn, who did not see the gleam of triumph in Vreeland’s eyes when the hostess asked him to visit her dreamy domain of Lakemere.
CHAPTER III.
A FRANK DISCLOSURE.
Hathorn returned, thoroughly hoodwinked, from the introductory evening spent at the Circassia. It had seemed strange to him that a leading general of the regular army, and a dapper French author, then in the brief blaze of his “lionship,” with a grave senator and a returned Polar explorer should have been called to meet together at the dinner table. “It’s Elaine’s incomparable way of making a delightful olla podrida of the social menu,” he mused, as he watched the hostess narrowly. “Caviare to the General!”
When he had found time to whisper a confidential word as to the enormous Sugar sales of the day, the Lady of Lakemere only laughed merrily. “I have now a soul above Sugar! I shall put my ‘Trust’ elsewhere!” And then, in her serious way, she slowly said: “Wait here with your Western friend, till all these other people go!” And he, with a budding hope, eagerly awaited her pleasure as of old.
Elaine’s unruffled brow bore no business shades when she drew Hathorn aside for a moment into her boudoir, leaving the luxury-loving Vreeland wandering around spell-bound in a frank admiration of the queen’s jewel-box. For so, the spacious apartment was termed in the circle of “le Petit Trianon.”
“This is only my catch-all, Mr. Vreeland,” cried Elaine, as she swept past him. “You must see Lakemere. There you can linger—and—admire.”
Harold Vreeland’s silent oath of obedience followed the woman, who fixed her sweetly serious eyes on the agitated Hathorn, in the well-remembered room where their hearts had so often throbbed with quickened beats. “Was it to be a rapprochement?”
“It is only fair to tell you, Fred,” she simply said, “that I shall have to avoid all excitements this summer. Doctor Hugo Alberg is not at all satisfied with my heart action. And, a tranquil rest at Lakemere is his sole prescription. Now, as I shall probably stay there till October first, I shall leave my speculative stock account to be handled by Judge Endicott, who has my sole power of attorney.”
The mystified broker stood aghast at losing his pet account for such a long period. Was she leaving the Street forever? He faltered, “And this means—”