THE INTERVIEW.
It was the first of December that the old home passed into the hands
of strangers, and the Wilmer family took up their abode in a
fashionable part of the city of New York. The air of refinement which
they carried with them, and the fact of their being wealthy, soon drew
around them a large circle of friends, and among them Irene shone a
bright star in the world of fashion. Guy Horton was there, established
in an extensive publishing business, and he and Scott were soon fast
friends. The longer Scott knew Guy the better opinion he formed of his
character. Aside from a slight show of egotism, he thought Guy almost
faultless. Irene had remarked to June that she would be glad when the
year was up, that she could leave off that horrid black. "For," said
she, "you look lovely in black, but I am a fright. I am glad that
Scott never notices how I look, any way."
It was very true that the horrid black, as Irene termed it, was for
some reason much more becoming to June than to herself. The sombre
robes gave a still more lovely glow to June's pearly complexion and
sunny hair, but Irene looked much older in black.
It was now the first of February. Scott had asked his wife to meet him
in his study. They had grown to be such strangers that formality
seemed hardly out of place between them. She came with a reluctant
step, like a guilty child who is looking for a chastisement, and with
a cool bow took the chair which he very politely offered her, sitting
where the light fell dimly on her face.
"I have requested your presence here that we might speak on a very
painful subject."
She settled back in the soft cushions, but did not speak.
"I beg you will listen, and answer me truthfully."
The crimson blood mounted to her face, but she dare not raise her eyes
and look in Scott's face.
"I have not requested this interview to upbraid you," he continued,
"but merely to learn your intentions. It may save you a great deal of
surmising for me to state to you that I am acquainted with the fact
that you care more for another than you do for me, and God knows that
I am sorry that you have learned it too late."
She started to her feet, but he gently reseated her.
"Be quiet," he said in a firm voice. "I have no desire to intimidate
you, or to make you feel unhappy. I only wish to ask you if the life
we are living is to continue?"
His hazel eyes seemed to pierce her very soul. She did not speak, and
he continued:
"It has become a burden to me, and rather than that it should continue
I would prefer death."
She stole a glance at his face. The keen, penetrating look in his
eyes had given place to one of extreme sadness, and almost any heart
would have been moved to remorse, but between her face and his own
there came another whose beauty blotted out every other object, and
made her forget for the time that she was a wife, and forget, too, the
vast importance of the answer she should make.
"I am willing, Irene, to forgive, and as far as in my power lies, to
forget, and take you back to my heart, if you can say that you come
with a determination to live for your own and my happiness, but never
must that bold villain who holds such an influence over you cross my
threshold. Will you consent?"
Again the handsome face arose before her, sealing her lips to that
which should in justice, have been said.
"Irene, I warn you now. Remember what you are doing. I am sorry for
you, but the die is cast, and there is but one thing in all the world
to do, and thereby protect your honor; do you know what it is?"
"I suppose it is to spend my days with a man who has not one thought
in common with my own; to live with a man I never can love, and who
does not love me."
Scott arose with compressed lips and pale face. His arms were folded
across his manly breast, a favorite attitude with him when laboring
under any excitement.
"No, it is not. The house is at your disposal, just as ever. If you
have found you have made so great a mistake, keep the society of your
lady friends, and I will not trouble you, but for the sake of
yourself, for the sake of my mother and sister, if not for me, do
nothing to disgrace us."
"You have no heart, Scott Wilmer," she said, bursting into a flood of
angry tears, "and the best thing we can do is to live apart."
"One moment, Irene," Scott said as she started to leave the room, but
she heeded not his words, and closing the door with a crash, she went
to her room and penned the following lines:
"DEAREST: The end has come at last. Come to me at once and we will
make arrangements for our departure. Your own,
R."
Two days later she was busy packing her clothing. Very cautiously she
worked, being careful not to come in contact with her husband.
June was all taken up with her harp lessons, learning, she knew, just
because that important Guy Horton liked the music of it.
At the end of the third day, as Paul was passing her room, Irene
called him in. Paul wondered that she should do him such an honor, and
still more surprised was he when she asked him to do her a favor, to
which Paul answered that he would if he could.
"I know you can," she said, putting on one of her most bewitching
smiles.
Paul did not readily accept flattery, and he supposed that Irene was
about to ask a favor that she could not obtain in any other way, but
he waited as patiently and accepted the terms as politely as though
she were a queen.
"Paul," she said, "I am going away for a time, and I wish to ask you
to attend to a little matter of business for me. I am expecting a
letter from papa which will contain a check. Please cash it and send
it by express. Here is the order. I will let you know later where to
send it."
"I would rather you would leave the business with your husband. I
think he is the proper one."
"No," she said abruptly, "I wish you to do the favor for me. Can't I
trust you to do a small favor?"
"Certainly you can," said Paul, a new idea entering his head.
"And will you?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I shall never be able to thank you enough. There, let me pay you
for your trouble; take this money."
"No, I shall not accept a penny. I am not in need of money."
"You will attend to the business for me, though?"
"Yes."
"And be sure and not mention it to my husband. You receive all the
mail that comes to the house, and when you find one marked San
Bernardino you will know it is from my father."
"San Bernardino," Paul repeated.
"Yes; don't forget. If it comes soon, bring it to the Grand Central
and see if I am there; if I am not, do as I have directed you. Will
you promise me this, and keep it a secret?"
"I will promise to do the business according to your orders."
"Thank you, Paul. If I can ever serve you in any way I will do so."
Paul bowed and left the room. His brain was very busy with several
plans which he was working up, and he must have time to calculate, for
though they might not one of them be of any importance, they were
weighty enough for his young brain to master, and he must be by
himself. He had some work to do for his employer, an errand or two for
Irene, a piece of work of his own that must be done, and then he would
take time to think.
Two days later Paul received the letter of which Irene had spoken, and
accordingly made haste to fulfill his promise. He reached the hotel,
and stepping in, sought Irene and delivered the letter. She did not
seem at all anxious that Paul should stay, but said hurriedly: "Thank
you, Paul; I may write you some day and perhaps ask another favor of
you."
Then she closed the massive door and Paul was left standing alone. He
entered the street thinking that it was all very strange, and there
must be something about Irene's intentions that were highly improper.
He had in his possession another letter which Irene had given him to
deliver to Scott, and to-day he must do that errand. He wondered if
the letter contained anything unpleasant.