During the fortnight that followed, Arthur Hollis sunned himself each
day more and more in Ida's presence.
No one noticed it save Vivian Deane. He saw no danger, nor did she, in
their companionship. In the meantime, the shadow darkened and deepened.
It was simply the old story in another form.
They were both young. She was gifted with the sweetest grace that ever
a woman possessed; he was brave, courteous, and noble, with the first
throb of a mighty passion in his heart.
What usually happens in such cases? He fell desperately in love with
Ida.
At first Arthur told himself it was pity for her loneliness that
actuated him to be always at her side, to make time pass pleasantly for
her. He realized, when it was too late, that pity had deepened into a
mighty love. And he told himself, in his despair, as the truth forced
itself upon him, that he loved her.
The truth came to him like a great shock. He went to Eugene Mallard,
and told him he must go away at once. It would have been better if he
had told him why; but he did not.
"I will not listen to such a thing!" cried Eugene. "You have promised
to stay until the shooting season, and I will hold you to your word."
In vain he pleaded. But Eugene was obdurate.
"There is no good reason for your hurrying away," said Eugene.
"Then you want me to stay, no matter what happens?" replied his friend,
quickly.
"Yes," replied Eugene Mallard; and he thought of Arthur's words for
many a day afterward.
Arthur Hollis tried to reason with himself, saying that it was better
to go. But he was like the moth, who felt insensibly attracted toward
the flame, drawing nearer and nearer, until, like the moth, he would
perish in it.
After his conversation with Eugene, he proceeded to shut his eyes to
the danger.
He was a free-lance. No woman's face had ever touched his heart before,
and he was frightened at the intensity of the love that thrilled his
heart for beautiful Ida Mallard.
He would sun himself in her presence for one brief fortnight longer,
and then go away. Surely it was not much in a life-time. He would not
deprive himself of the one glimpse of sunshine that had drifted into
his life.
Every day found them together.
Although Ida did not realize what was in his heart, yet she felt
intuitively that there was a great change in Arthur Hollis since he had
been beneath that roof.
Although he lingered with his feet on the edge of a precipice, yet
he stood face to face with the truth--he loved at last with all the
passionate strength of his heart and nature.
He said to himself that if marriages were made in heaven, she was the
one woman intended for him; she was the only woman in this world that
he could ever love.
If she had only been free, he would have given her his life, his
love--all that he had on earth to give.
To make the situation all the more pitiful, he knew that she was a
wife in name only to the man whose name she bore; that she was as far
removed from him as though she dwelt in an opposite part of the world
from him.
She was so young, so unhappy, he pitied her with all his heart. He was
perplexed, agitated.
How he enjoyed the rambles, the rides with her! The sweetest moment of
his life was when he could steal upon her unawares.
He saw no danger, and in the meantime the shadow darkened and deepened.
Vivian Deane watched them with exultant eyes.
"It will end in an elopement," she told herself, triumphantly. "Their
hearts are drifting nearer and nearer together, and the end is not far
off."
Every day seemed to make Ida more cold and careless, and to leave an
added sternness upon the face of Eugene Mallard, and a harshness in his
voice.
His marriage had been a bitter regret. It was an effort now to even
keep up appearances. He had sealed his misery. There were times when he
wished fiercely, miserably, that he could sever that most unhappy bond
and set her free.
Not all the wealth and luxury and the army of obsequious servants
could make the grand old mansion a home in its true sense.
The young wife plunged into a ceaseless round of frivolity with a
reckless _abandon_ quite foreign to her nature.
She accepted every invitation that came to her, and gave in return a
series of entertainments of so extravagant and magnificent a character
that the people around opened their eyes in astonishment, and whispered
it was well that Eugene Mallard's pocket was a deep one.
But before long they found something else to comment upon. Wherever
Ida went, whether she went abroad or entertained at home, at dinner,
ball, assembly, there, always closely in her train, might be seen the
handsome Arthur Hollis.
Gossip began to circulate, slight and vague at first, but it soon
became plainly hinted that Eugene Mallard's beautiful young wife
was flirting with Arthur Hollis--flirting defiantly, desperately,
recklessly. People wondered in indignant astonishment if her husband
was blind or mad.
Almost everybody was discussing the piquant scandal. Even those who had
been her guests found something to say, declaring that they had noticed
it from the first, adding this or that detail as the occasion prompted.
They wondered why some one did not drop a hint to the husband.
Unsuspicious by nature, and disregarding the formal calls of society
whenever he could possibly do so, he very seldom accompanied his wife
on the rounds of gayety on which she had embarked. For weeks neither
significant words nor glances came to him.
But he did hear of it at last, and then the blow struck him with
terrible effect. It was only a few sentences spoken by a couple of
ladies, and pointed with a venom which only a woman's tongue can give,
coupling the name of his wife with that of Arthur Hollis.
But the import of their words was unmistakable, and the shock seemed
momentarily to stop the young man's breath. The two scandal-mongers
lingered over their gossip with keen delight, not knowing that they
were overheard. It was at a garden-party given by Ida. Eugene Mallard
had gone into the grounds to enjoy a cigar in a favorite little retreat
which few of the guests had as yet discovered. He did not care for the
dancing on the lawn, and could not be induced to join the dancers.
Hidden by a group of laurel-bushes, Eugene's quick ear caught the words
of two young girls walking slowly down the path.
"Have you seen our hostess, young Mrs. Mallard?" asked one of the
other. "I have been searching for her everywhere."
"Look for handsome Arthur Hollis," returned her companion. "You will
surely find her with him."
The rest of the sentence was uttered in a whisper, but Eugene Mallard
heard every word of it.