How should he meet her? With the warmth of a lover, or the distance of a mere acquaintance? Would it be wise to speak of his interview with Mrs. Denison, or let that subject pass untouched by even the remotest allusion? Mr. Dexter was still in debate, when he heard some one descending the stairs. Steps were in the passage near the door. He arose, and stood expectant.
“Miss Loring says, will you please excuse her this evening?”
“Excuse her!” Mr. Dexter could not veil his surprise. “Why does she wish to be excused, Mary?”
“I don’t know sir. She didn’t say.”
“Is she sick?”
“I don’t think she is very well. Something isn’t right with her, poor child!”
“What isn’t right with her?”
“I don’t know, sir. But she was crying when I went into her room.”
“Crying?”
“Yes, sir; and she cries a great deal, all alone there by herself, sir,” added Mary, who had her own reasons for believing that Dexter was not really the heart-choice of Jessie—and with the tact of her sex, took it upon herself to throw a little cold water over his ardor. It may be that she hoped to give it a thorough chill.
“What does she cry about, Mary?”
“Dear knows, sir! I often wonder to see it, and she so soon to be married. It doesn’t look just natural. There’s something wrong.”
“Wrong? How wrong, Mary?”
“That’s just what I asked myself over and over again,” replied the girl.
“She had a visitor here to-night,” said Dexter, after a moment or two. He tried to speak indifferently; but the quick perception of Mary detected the covert interest in his tones.
“Yes.” A single cold monosyllable was her reply.
“Who was he?”
“‘Deed I don’t know, sir.”
“Was he a stranger?”
“I didn’t see him, sir,” answered Mary.
“You let him in?”
“No, sir. The cook went to the door.”
Dexter bit his lips with disappointment.
“Will you say to Miss Loring that I wish to see her particularly to-night.”
Mary hesitated.
“Why don’t you take up my request?” He spoke with covert impatience.
“I am sure she wishes to be excused to-night,” persisted the girl. “She’s not at all herself; and it will be cruel to drag her down.”
But Dexter waved his hand, and said, sharply:
“I wish to hear no more from you, Miss Pert! Go to Miss Loring, and tell her that she will confer a favor by seeing me this evening. I can receive no apology but sickness.”
Jessie was sitting as Mary had left her, both hands covering her face, when that kind-hearted creature returned.
“It’s too much!” exclaimed the girl, as she entered. “He must see you, he says. I told him you wasn’t well, and wished to be excused. But no, he must see you! Something’s gone wrong with him. He’s all out of sorts, and spoke as if he’d take my head off. He really frightened me!”
Jessie drew a long deep sigh.
“If I must, I must,” she said, rising and looking at her face in the mirror.
“I wouldn’t go one step, Miss Jessie, if I were you. I’d like to see the man who dared order me down in this style. He’s jealous; that’s the long and short of it. Punish him—he deserves it.”
“Jealous, Mary?” Miss Loring turned to the girl with a startled look. “Why do you say that?”
“Oh, he asked me if you hadn’t a visitor to-night.”
“Well?”
“I said yes. Only ‘yes,’ and no more.”
“Why yes, and no more?” asked Miss Loring.
“D’ye think I was going to gratify him! What business had he to ask whether you had a visitor or not? You ain’t sold to him.”
“Mary!” There was reproof in the look and voice of Miss Loring. “You must not speak so of Mr. Dexter.”
“Well, I won’t if it displeases you. But I was downright mad with him.”
“You said yes to his question. What then, Mary?”
“Oh, then he wanted to know who he was.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Why? And what did you answer?”
“I wasn’t going to gratify him; and I said that I didn’t know.”
“Well?”
“‘Was he a stranger?’ said he. ‘I didn’t see him,’ said I. ‘You let him in?’ said he. ‘No, the cook went to the door,’ said I. You should have seen him then. He was baffled. Then looking almost savage, he bid me tell you that you must see him to-night.”
“Must see him! Did he say must?”
There was rebellion in Jessie’s voice.
“Well no, not just that word. But he looked and meant it, which is all the same.”
“Then he doesn’t know who called to see me?”
“Not from all he got from me, miss. But you’re not going down?”
“Yes, Mary; I will see him as he desires. Go and say that I will join him in a few minutes.”
The girl obeyed, and Jessie, after struggling a few moments with her feelings, went down to the parlor, where Mr. Dexter awaited her.
“I am sorry to learn that you are not well this evening,” said the young man, as he advanced across the room, with his eyes fixed intently on the face of his betrothed. She tried to smile, and receive him with her usual kindness of manner. But this was impossible. She had been profoundly disturbed, and that too recently for self-possession.
“What ails you? Has anything happened?”
Jessie had not yet trusted her lips with words. The tones of Dexter evinced some fretfulness.
“I am not very well,” she said, partly turning away her face that she might avoid the searching scrutiny of his eyes.
Dexter took her hand and led her to a sofa. They sat down, side by side, in silence—ice between them.
“Have you been indisposed all day?” inquired Dexter.
“I have not been very well for some time,” was answered in a husky voice, and in a manner that he thought evasive.
Again there was silence.
“I called to see Mrs. Denison this evening,” said Dexter; and then waited almost breathlessly for a response, looking at Jessie stealthily to note the effect of his words.
“Did you?”
There was scarcely a sign of interest in her voice.
“Yes. You have met her, I believe?”
“A few times.”
“Have you seen her recently?”
“No.”
Dexter gained nothing by this advance.
“What do you think of her?” he added, after a pause.
“She is a lady of fine social qualities and superior worth.”
Again the young man was silent. He could not discover by Jessie’s manner that she had any special interest in Mrs. Denison. This was some relief; for it removed the impression that there was an understanding between them.
“I don’t admire her a great deal,” he said, with an air of indifference. “She’s a little too prying and curious; and I’m afraid, likes to gossip.”
“Ah! I thought her particularly free from that vice.”
“I had that impression also. But my interview this evening gave me a different estimate of her character.”
“Did you come from Mrs. Denison’s directly here?” asked Jessie in a changed tone, as if some thought of more than common interest had flitted through her mind. This change Dexter did not fail to observe.
“I did,” was his answer.
“Then I may infer,” said Jessie, “that your pressing desire to see me this evening has grown out of something you heard from the lips of Mrs. Denison. Am I right in this conclusion?”
Dexter was not quite prepared for this. After a slight hesitation he answered—
“Partly so.”
The cold indifferent manner of Jessie Loring passed away directly.
“If you have anything to communicate, as of course you have, say on, Mr. Dexter.”
As little prepared was he for this; and quite as little for the almost stately air with which Jessie drew up her slight form, returning his glances with so steady a gaze that his eyes fell.