“Speak out, Leon Dexter! What do you mean?”
And her eyes rested on his with a glance as steady as an eagle’s.
“I saw your meeting a little while ago.”
Mr. Dexter rallied a little.
“What meeting?” There was no betraying sign in Mrs. Dexter’s face, nor the least faltering in her tones.
“Your meeting with him.”
“With whom? Speak out plainly, sir! I am in no mood for trifling, and in no condition for solving riddles.”
“With Paul Hendrickson.” Dexter pronounced the name slowly, and with all the meaning emphasis he could throw into his voice.
“Well, sir, what of that?” Still neither eye nor voice faltered.
“Much! You see that I understand you!”
“I see that you do not understand me,” was firmly answered. “And now, sir, will you suffer me to demand an explanation of your language just now. I want no evasion—no faltering—no holding back. ‘Too glad of an opportunity to get here!’ That was the sentence. Its meaning, sir?”
The small head of Mrs. Dexter was erect; her nostrils distended; her lips closely laid upon each other; her eyes full fixed and almost fiery in their intense light. Suddenly she was transformed in the eyes of her husband from a yielding, gentle, though cold woman into the very spirit of accusation and defiance. He was silent; for he saw that he had gone too far.
“That must be explained, sir!” She was not to be turned aside. “I have noted your capricious conduct; your singular glances at times; your strange moodiness without apparent cause. A little light has given a faint impression of their meaning. But I must have the full blaze of your thoughts. Nothing else will satisfy me now.”
She paused. Mr. Dexter had indeed gone a step too far, a fact of which he was painfully aware. He had conjured up a spirit that it might not be easy to lay.
“You are too excited. Calm yourself,” he said.
Turning from her husband, Mrs. Dexter crossed the room, and seating herself upon a sofa, said, in a quiet way—
“Sit down beside me, Mr. Dexter. I am calm. Sit down and speak; for your recent language must be explained. Evasion will be fruitless—I will not accept of it.”
“I spoke hastily. Forget my words.”
Mr. Dexter sat down beside his wife, and spoke in a gentle soothing manner.
“It is all in vain, Mr. Dexter! All in vain! Yours were no idle words; and I can never forget them. You have greatly misapprehended your wife, I see; and the quicker you know this the better it will be for both of us. The time has come for explanation—and it shall be made! Why did I wish to come to Newport?”
“You knew that Paul Hendrickson was here,” said Mr. Dexter; “that was the reason!”
“It is false, sir!” was the quick and sharp rejoinder.
“Jessie! beware how you speak!” The angry blood mounted to the very brow of the husband.
“It is false, sir!” she repeated, even more emphatically, if that were possible. “Of his movements I am as ignorant as you are!”
“I cannot tamely bear such words,” said Mr. Dexter, still much excited.
“And I will not bear such imputations,” was firmly rejoined.
Mr. Dexter arose, and commenced the unsatisfactory movement of pacing the floor. Mrs. Dexter remained sitting firmly erect, her eyes following the form of her husband.
“We will drop the subject now and forever,” said the former, stopping, at length, in front of his wife.
Mrs. Dexter did not reply.
“I may have been too hasty.”
“May have been!” There was contempt on the lip, and indignation in the voice of Mrs. Dexter.
“Yes, may. We are certain of nothing in this world,” said her husband, coldly; “and now, as I said, we will drop the subject.”
“It is easier to say than to unsay, Mr. Dexter. The sentiment is very trite, but it involves a world of meaning sometimes, and”—she paused, then added, with marked emphasis—”does now!”
Mr. Dexter made no response, and there the matter ended for the time; each of the ill-assorted partners farther from happiness than they had yet been since the day of their unfortunate union.
CHAPTER XIV.
AN hour later: Scene, the public parlor.
“Mrs. Dexter.”
The lady rose, a pleasant smile animating her face, and returned the gentleman’s courteous greeting.
“Mr. Hendrickson.” Yes, that was the name on her lips.
“You arrived to-day,” he said, and he took a place at the other end of the tete-a-tete.
“Yes.”
“From Saratoga, I believe?”
“Yes. How long have you been at Newport?”
“I arrived only this morning. You are looking very well, Mrs. Dexter.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. Time lays his hands upon you lightly!”
The shadow of another’s presence came between them.
“Mr. Dexter, my husband; Mr. Hendrickson, from B—,” said Mrs. Dexter, with the most perfect ease of manner, presenting the two gentlemen. They had met before, as the reader knows, and had good reason for remembering each other. They touched hands, Dexter frowning, and Hendrickson slightly embarrassed. Mrs. Dexter entirely herself, smiling, talkative, and with an exterior as unruffled as a mountain lake.
“How long will you remain?” she asked, speaking to Mr. Hendrickson.
“Several days.”
“Ah! I am pleased to hear you say so. I left some very pleasant friends at Saratoga, but yours is the only familiar face I have yet seen here.”
“I saw Mr. and Mrs. Florence just now,” said Mr. Dexter.
“Did you?”
“Yes. There they are, at the lower end of the parlor. Do you see them?”
Mrs. Dexter turned her eyes in the direction indicated by her husband, and replied in an indifferent manner:
“Oh, yes.”
“Mrs. Florence is looking at you now. Won’t you go over and see her?”
“After a while,” replied Mrs. Dexter. Then turning to Mr. Hendrickson, she said:
“These summer resorts are the dullest places imaginable without congenial friends.”
“So I should think. But you can scarcely know the absence of these. I heard of you at Saratoga, as forming the centre of one of the most agreeable and intelligent circles there.”
“Ah!” Mrs. Dexter was betrayed into something like surprise.
“Yes. I saw Miss Arden in New York, as I came through. She had been to Saratoga.”
“Miss Arden? I don’t remember her,” said Mrs. Dexter.
“She resides in B—.”
“Miss Arden? Miss Arden?” Mrs. Dexter seemed curious. “What is her appearance?”
“Tall, with a very graceful figure. Complexion dark enough to make her pass for a brunette. Large black eyes and raven hair.”
“In company with her mother?” said Mrs. Dexter.
“Yes.”
“I remember her now. She was quite the belle at Saratoga. But I was not so fortunate as to make her acquaintance. She sings wonderfully. Few professional artists are so gifted.”
“You have used the right word,” said Mr. Hendrickson. “Her musical powers are wonderful. I wish you knew her, she is a charming girl.”
“You must help me to that knowledge on our return to B—.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure. I am sure you will like each other,” said Hendrickson, warmly.
From that point in the conversation Mrs. Dexter began to lose her self-possession, and free, outspoken manner. The subject was changed, but the airiness of tone and lightness of speech was gone. Just in time, Mrs. Florence came across the room, joined the circle, and saving her from a betrayal of feelings that she would not, on any account, have manifested.