April's days were lengthening out in showers and sunshine and cold east wind. Easter and a huge party had come and gone at Verdayne Place, and the Lady Henrietta had had her hopes once more blighted by noticing Paul's indomitable indifference to all the pretty girls.
He was going to stand for Parliament in the autumn, when their very old member should retire, and he made that an excuse for his isolation; he was working too hard for social functions, he said. But in reality life was growing more than he could bear.
Captain Grigsby had sold the old Blue Heather and bought a new steam yacht of seven hundred tons--large enough to take him round the world, he said--and he had had her put in commission for the Mediterranean, and she was waiting for him now at Marseilles. Would Paul join him for a trip? he asked, and Paul hesitated for a moment.
If no news came by Friday--this was a Monday--then he should go to London and deliberately find out his lady's name and kingdom. In that case to cruise in those waters might suit his book passing well.
So he asked for a few days' grace, and Captain Grigsby gave a friendly growl in reply, and thus it was settled. By Saturday he was to give his answer.
Tuesday passed, and Wednesday, and on Thursday a telegram came for Paul which drove him mad with joy. It was short and to the point: "Meet Dmitry in Paris," Then followed an address. By rushing things he could just catch the night boat.
He went to his father's room, where Sir Charles was discussing affairs with his land steward. The man retired.
"Father," said Paul, "I am going immediately to Paris. I have not even time to wait and see my mother--she is out driving, I hear. Will you understand, father, and make it all right with her?"
And Sir Charles said, as he wrung his son's hand: "Take care of yourself, Paul--I understand, my boy--and remember, Grig and I are with you to the bone. Wire if you want us--and let me have your news."
So they had parted without fuss, deep feeling in their hearts.
Paul had telegraphed to the address given, for Dmitry, that he would be in Paris, and at what hotel, by the following morning. He chose a large caravanserai as being more suitable to unremarked comings and goings, should Dmitry's visit be anything of a secret one. And with intense impatience he awaited the faithful servant's visit.
He was eating his early breakfast in his sitting-room when the old man appeared. In all the journey Paul had not allowed himself any speculation--he would see and know soon, that was enough. But he felt inclined to grind this silver-haired retainer's hand with joy as he made his respectful obeisance.