In short she was dull, and rather tiresomely devoted to her half-sister, whom no one thought of inviting to join in youthful escapades--so after a time Leo was not invited either.
This was a trouble to Sue, and one day she made a suggestion. Was there any use in remaining in London, if the life there was not in accordance with either of their tastes? If Leo no longer cared for society--though she owned she thought that a pity at her age--and here the speaker paused.
"I don't--at present," owned Leo, frankly. "I may again--some time,"--but to herself she wondered, would that some time ever come?
Then news came from America, sad news, which put all other thoughts aside for the moment. A child had been born, but its birth had cost the mother her life, and the next cable announced that poor Val had lost his little son also. He was begged to return home, and assured of welcome and maintenance there,--but to the surprise of all replied evasively. He would see how matters were by-and-by; he could not bring himself to move just yet.
The next letter expatiated on the wonderful beauty and climate of California, and the kindness and hospitality of friends, who had carried him off for a trip, to distract his thoughts.
Again another letter was full of nothing but these friends. Poor simple Val had not the art of concealment, and long before he knew himself, the sisters knew what to expect. He had been "most awfully sad and lonely," and he "would never forget Maud,"--but he had found a dear girl who reminded him of her, and (here the pen had raced) by the time dear Sue and Leo received the letter, he would be married to the richest heiress in California. A newspaper followed, announcing that the ceremony had actually taken place.
"So we need not go out to Val," said Leo, with a smile.
She and Sue were wandering hither and thither with no particular reason for being anywhere, and it had been in contemplation to cross the Atlantic. Sue's investments had prospered of late, and there would have been no difficulty about funds--yet each sister was conscious of a sense of relief when the expedition was abandoned. Sue was timorous and a bad traveller,--while Leo, from whom the suggestion had emanated, no sooner found it taking shape than she repented. What was she going for? What could the new country yield that the old could not? Could it heal her sore heart? Could it banish remembrance? Could it give her news of Paul? Paul, who had vanished from the face of the earth?