"Oh! she told me to say good-by for her," answered Mrs. Lewis carelessly. He hesitated, and looked hurt. "I suppose she doesn't care to take the trouble to see me," he said. "Tell her I said good-by, and God bless her."
"I will do nothing of the kind!" said the lady, with emphasis.
Mr. Southard stared at her in astonishment.
"'Doesn't care to take the trouble!" she repeated indignantly. "It is rather you who haven't cared to treat her with common gratitude or civility. You have had eyes for only Miss Hamilton, who didn't care a fig for you; while Aurelia, the poor simpleton! who made a hero of you, and broke her heart because you were in disgrace with the world and disappointed in love—you hadn't a glance for. No; I won't say good-by to her. I will let her believe that you went without remembering her existence, as you came near doing. It will help her to forget you. There, take that with my blessing, and good-by. The carriage is waiting."
"Where is she?" he exclaimed, his whole face changed, and become alive all at once. "I shall not stir from the house till I have seen her, if I have to wait a year."
"What will Miss Hamilton think of your constancy?" asked Mrs. Lewis with a toss of the head.
"Madam," said Mr. Southard, "for me there is but one woman in the world, and that is she who loved me without waiting to be asked. Will you be so good as to tell Aurelia that I wish to see her in the library?"
He went toward the library, and Mrs. Lewis leisurely returned to the parlor, a curious little smile on her lips.
Aurelia Lewis was seated before the library fire, with her hands folded in her lap.