Trent was standing before a bust of Daniel Webster, speculating upon how
his own profile would look in bronze.
“You would have to shave off your side-whiskers,” murmured a soft voice
behind him.
He turned with a nervous start, and a suspicion of colour appeared under
his grey skin. Mrs. Pendleton was standing with her hands resting
lightly on the table. She smiled with saucy dignity—an art she had
brought to perfection.
“I give you five years,” she said.
“With you to help me,” he cried enthusiastically. “Ah! I see you now,
leaning on the arm of a foreign ambassador, going in to some great
diplomatic dinner!”
“It is too bad, I shall have to take the arm of a small one; you will be
but the American minister, you know. (Great Heaven! how determined he
looks! I know he means to kiss me. If I can only keep his ambition
going.)”
“I will be senator first, and pass a bill placing this country on an
equal diplomatic footing with the proudest in Europe. You will then go
to your embassy as the wife of an ambassador.”
“I know you will accomplish it; and let it be Paris. I cannot endure to
shop anywhere else.”
“It shall be Paris.”
“Are you not tired?” she asked hurriedly.
“Tired? I have not thought of fatigue.”
“The day is so warm.”
“I have not felt it. Jessica!”
“O—h—h—h!” and catching her face convulsively in her hand, she sank
into a chair.
“What is it? What is it?” he cried, hopping about her like an agitated
spider, the tip of his nose punctuating his excitement. “What can I do?
Are you ill?”
Faintly: “Neuralgia.”
“What shall I ring for? Antipyrine? Horse-radish for your wrists?
Belladonna? What?”
“Nothing. Sit down and talk to me, and perhaps it will go away. Tell me
something about yourself, and I’ll forget it. Sit down.”
“There is but little to tell. I have been busy making friends against
the next election. I have addressed several meetings with great success.
I have every chance for the House this time—for the Senate next term.
How’s your face?”
“Misery! You said that several of my old friends came down with you. How
odd!”
“Was it not?”
“I suppose they will all come to see me.”
“H’m. I don’t know. Doubt if they know you are here. I shall not tell
them. They would only be coming to see you and getting in my way. I’ll
wait until our wedding-day approaches and ask them to be ushers. But
now, Jessica, that you do not seem to suffer so acutely—”
“Oh! Oh! (Thank Heaven, I hear Edith.)”
Trent sprang to his feet in genuine alarm. “Dearest! Let me go for the
doctor. I cannot stand this—”
Miss Decker entered with apparent haste, spoke to Trent, then stopped
abruptly.
“Jessica!” she cried. “What is the matter?”
“My face! You know how I have suffered—worse than ever.”
“Oh, you poor dear! She is such a martyr, Mr. Trent, with that tooth—”
“Neuralgia!”
“I mean neuralgia! She was up all night. But, my dear, don’t think me a
heartless fiend, but you must see your lawyer. He is here with those
deeds for you to sign, and he says that he must catch the train.”
“That estate has given me so much trouble,” murmured Mrs. Pendleton,
wretchedly; “and how can I talk business when my head is on the rack? I
do not wish to leave Mr. Trent so soon, either.”
“Leave Mr. Trent to me. I will entertain him. I will talk to him about
you.”
“May I speak to you one moment before you go?” asked Trent.
“Yes,” pinching her lips with extremest pain, “you need not mind Edith.”
“Not in the least.” He took a box from his pocket with an air of
resignation which boded well for the trials of a diplomatic career. “I
cannot wait longer to fetter you. You told me once that the emerald was
your favourite stone.”
She relaxed her lips and swept her lashes down and up rapturously. “So
good of you to remember,” she murmured; “it reminds me of mermaids and
things, and I love it.”
“You were always so poetical! But where did you get that ring? I thought
you never wore rings. On your engagement finger, too!”
“It was a present from grandma, and I wear it to please her. I’ll slip
it in my pocket now—it is too large for any other finger—and you can
put yours where it belongs.”
“You will never take it off until you need its place for your
wedding-ring?”
“Never!”
“Angel! And your face is better?”
“Yes; but Edith is looking directly this way.”