" Now all Paul could do was to wait and hope. At
least his Queen had his address. She could write to him, even though he
could not write to her--and surely, surely, some news of her must come.
Thus the winter arrived, and the hunting--hunting that he had been sure was
what he liked best in all the world.
And now it just served to pass the time and distract some hours from the
anguishing ache by its physical pleasure. But in that, as in everything he
did at this time, Paul tried to outshine his fellows, and gain one more
laurel to lay at the feet of his Queen. Socially he was having an immense
success. He began to be known as some one worth listening to by men, and
women hung on his words. It was peculiarly delightful to find so young and
beautiful a creature with all the knowledge and fascinating _cachet_ of a
man of the world. And then his complete indifference to them piqued and
allured them still more. Always polite and chivalrous, but as aloof as a
mountain top. Paul had no small vanity to be soothed by their worship into
forgetting for one moment his Queen. So his shooting-visits passed, and his
experience of life grew.
Isabella had returned at Christmas, engaged to a High Church curate, and
beaming with satisfaction and health. And it gave Paul, and indeed them
both, pleasure to meet and talk for an hour.
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