The souvenir, took the form of a superb diamond ring, which Cara placed with ecstasy upon her third finger. The purchase had been speedy--since Blagdon, a moneyed man, always knew exactly what he wanted--and as they emerged to the water-side, Cara gazed nervously down the lake. Yes, the steamer, bearing her mother out of her life, was still in sight. Her eyes, as she watched it rounding the promontory, were blinded with tears; when she had brushed these away, she looked once more, but the _Stadthof_ and her pretty Mum, had disappeared, as far as she was concerned, for ever. * * * * * Having accomplished her errands and visits, Letty arrived punctually at the Bahnhof Pier, and looked eagerly around for Cara and her parcels; but no Cara appeared--she was not even in sight as the boat cast off. Letty and her daughter were dining that evening with Mrs. Hesketh, and at the Paradis she anxiously awaited her. Cara had missed a boat on several occasions, and come by the next; and now every time the great revolving door swung, she expected to see her enter. Time went on, dinner was over, the nine o’clock steamer had passed by, brilliantly illuminated. “What _can_ have become of Cara?” said her mother. “I know she was going to the Convent--it is not like _them_ to keep the child so late. Shall we go and wait in the lounge?” When the ladies entered, the hall, the concierge came forward with a thin blue telegram, addressed to ‘Mrs. Glyn,’ and handed it to Letty, who tore it open with shaking fingers. As her eyes glanced over the contents, she gave a faint exclamation and dropped the paper. Mrs. Hesketh picked it up instantly, and read: “Leaving for Paris with father. Good-bye. C. Blagdon.” CHAPTER XXXIV The shock of Cara’s desertion prostrated her mother, and for many days she remained at the Paradis, blanched and shaken, a stricken, ghost-like guest. Her friend (now completely restored) had taken the helm of her life in her hands, and was making rapid preparations for their departure to England. “My poor dear child,” she said, “I am desperately sorry for you. That your wound is deep, I know. ‘How sharper than the serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child,’ so said old King Lear; all the same, you will get over it.” “No, never, never!” replied Letty with energetic emphasis; and her voice and face were unrecognisably hard. “Certainly you will. I speak from experience. When my little boy died----” “Your boy!” interrupted Letty, lifting her head; “I never knew you had a child!”