He inquired at the bureau of the hotel, and was informed that the Signorina Fanetti had left three days ago, and that she had given no address to which letters might be forwarded. He thanked the clerk, turned, and went blindly down the steps into the street, crushed, grief-stricken, the sun of his existence blotted out.
He remembered his protestations in Livorno; he remembered all that had passed between them, and saw that he had acted as a coward and a cad. That she loved him he had no doubt, and it was also plain to him that she had left London heart-broken.
Armytage was very well known in London, and as soon as his friends knew he was back again, the usual flow of invitations poured in upon him. In his endeavour to divert his thoughts, he accepted all and sundry, and one evening went to Lady Marshfield’s, whose receptions were always a feature of London life.
The eccentric old lady had long been his friend. Like so many other young and good-looking men, he had been “taken up” by her ladyship, flattered, petted, and fêted, utterly unconscious that by allowing this to be done he was making himself the laughingstock of the whole set in which he moved. But the ugly old woman’s attentions had at last nauseated him, as they had done every other young man, and his absence abroad had for a time prevented him calling at Sussex Square.
But to the card for this particular evening was added, in her ladyship’s own antiquated handwriting, a few words expressing pleasure at his return to London, and a hope that he would call and see her.
Lady Marshfield’s junketings were distinctly brilliant on account of the large number of the diplomatic corps which she always gathered about her and this evening there was a particularly noteworthy crowd. There were many young attachés, many pretty girls, a few elderly diplomats, a fair sprinkling of members of Parliament, and a large gathering of the exclusive set in which her ladyship moved. The rooms were well-lit, the electricity bringing joy to every feminine heart, as it always does, because it shows their jewels to perfection; the flowers were choice and abundant, and the music was by one of the most popular orchestras in London. But it was always so.
When Charles Armytage shook the old lady’s hand at the head of the stairs, her thin blue lips parted in what she considered her sweetest smile, and she said: “You have quite deserted me, Charles. I hear you’ve been in London a whole fortnight, and yet this is your first visit!”
“I’ve been busy,” he answered. “I was away so long that I found such lots of things wanting my attention when I came back.”
“Ah! no excuses, no excuses,” the old lady croaked. “You young men are always full of excellent reasons for not calling. Well, go in; you’re sure to find some people you know. When I can, I want to have a serious chat with you, so don’t leave before I’ve seen you again. Promise me?”
“Certainly,” he said, as he passed on into the apartment filled to overflowing with its distinguished crowd.