Life for Henry Mayo was from then on as the blank street into which he stepped as he left the hotel. The tragedy of it was with him in hardly lessened intensity for many months, until finally it had brought him back to the old scenes, where through late afternoon a slow coach carried him to “San Juan” de Poëy.
At length the coach turned down the long avenue of trees, and Mayo could see more and more clearly the familiar front steps of white stone, converging from a broad base to the simplicity of a massive oak door. The entire house was white, and responded eloquently to the sunlight. Mayo paused for a moment after stepping from the carriage, to look sentimentally about him, and gaze on familiar things. Here Mrs. Poëy saw him, from an open window on the first floor.
“Henry Mayo! How glad I am that you’ve come!” she cried.
She received him at the head of the steps, with great cordiality, and led the way to the parlor.
“Mrs. Poëy, you have no idea how splendid it is to get back after such a long time,” he told her as they sat down. Whereupon they talked of old times, while he avoided speaking of Yzlita-Audrey until Mrs. Poëy should mention her. The sun was setting as they spoke at length on the changes in Havana, on the passing of the old American colony and its replacement by one grossly new. Mrs. Poëy did not seem so unhappy as Mayo had expected to find her after her daughter’s departure. In fact, she looked very cheerful and carefree. How brave women were!
Then, as dusk quickly came, they sat in silence for a few moments. It was the sort of silence that can fall only between two friends of long standing. And into the silence stepped Yzlita-Audrey, swiftly.
“Mother,” she began, but stopped as she realized there was a visitor. “Henry!” Her recognition through the dimness of the room came joyfully, her voice as thrilling as a midnight bell.
After an unreal moment of amazement, all Mayo could do was to turn to Mrs. Poëy and slowly say, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you ask me?” she laughed back, with her inscrutable, quiet smile; and then, suddenly brisk, “Well, I must go upstairs on a thousand errands.” Her eyes, however, were very kind as she left the room.