I
Just as the stage rumbled over the rickety old bridge, creaking
and groaning, the sun came from behind the clouds that had frowned
all the way, and the passengers cheered up a bit. The two richly
dressed matrons who had been so utterly and unnecessarily oblivious
to the presence of each other now suspended hostilities for the
moment by mutual and unspoken consent, and viewed with relief the
little, golden-tinted valley and the tree-clad road just beyond.
The respective husbands of these two ladies exchanged a mere
glance, no more, of comfort. They, too, were relieved, though more
by the momentary truce than by anything else. They regretted very
much to be compelled to hate each other, for each had reckoned up
his vis-à-vis as a rather proper sort of fellow, probably a man of
some achievement, used to good living and good company.
Extreme iciness was unavoidable between them, however. When one
stranger has a splendidly preserved blonde wife and the other a
splendidly preserved brunette wife, both of whom have won social
prominence by years of hard fighting and aloofness, there remains
nothing for the two men but to follow the lead, especially when
directly under the eyes of the leaders.
The son of the blonde matron smiled cheerfully as the welcome light
flooded the coach.
He was a nice-looking young man, of about twenty-two, one might
judge, and he did his smiling, though in a perfectly impersonal
and correct sort of manner, at the pretty daughter of the brunette
matron. The pretty daughter also smiled, but her smile was demurely
directed at the trees outside, clad as they were in all the flaming
glory of their autumn tints, glistening with the recent rain and
dripping with gems that sparkled and flashed in the noonday sun as
they fell.
It is marvelous how much one can see out of the corner of the eye,
while seeming to view mere scenery.
The driver looked down, as he drove safely off the bridge, and
shook his head at the swirl of water that rushed and eddied, dark
and muddy, close up under the rotten planking; then he cracked his
whip, and the horses sturdily attacked the little hill.
Thick, overhanging trees on either side now dimmed the light again,
and the two plump matrons once more glared past the opposite
shoulders, profoundly unaware of each other. The husbands took on
the politely surly look required of them. The blonde son’s eyes
still sought the brunette daughter, but it was furtively done and
quite unsuccessfully, for the daughter was now doing a little
glaring on her own account. The blonde matron had just swept her
eyes across the daughter’s skirt, estimating the fit and material
of it with contempt so artistically veiled that it could almost be
understood in the dark.