He started for Paris the
next morning, and in the evening, after he had removed the dust of his
journey and swallowed a hasty dinner, he rang at Mrs. Vivian's door.
This lady and her daughter gave him a welcome which--I will not say
satisfied him, but which, at least, did something toward soothing the
still unhealed wounds of separation.
"And what is the news of Gordon?" he presently asked.
"We have not seen him in three days," said Angela.
"He is cured, dear Bernard; he must be. Angela has been wonderful," Mrs.
Vivian declared.
"You should have seen mamma with Blanche," her daughter said, smiling.
"It was most remarkable."
Mrs. Vivian smiled, too, very gently.
"Dear little Blanche! Captain Lovelock has gone to London."
"Yes, he thinks it a beastly hole. Ah, no," Bernard added, "I have got
it wrong."
But it little mattered. Late that night, on his return to his own rooms,
Bernard sat gazing at his fire. He had not begun to undress; he was
thinking of a good many things. He was in the midst of his reflections
when there came a rap at his door, which the next moment was flung open.
Gordon Wright stood there, looking at him--with a gaze which Bernard
returned for a moment before bidding him to come in.
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