Eugene Mallard thought long and earnestly after Ida had left him: "What
can Ida want with the cash, and in so short a time?"
He put on his hat, went round to the stables, and ordered his horse. A
canter over the hills would drive away these gloomy, unhappy thoughts.
The sun had crept to its zenith, and was now sinking toward the west as
he reined his horse before the little village inn at Hampton Corners.
Every one knew Eugene Mallard. The proprietor of the hotel on the old
Virginia turnpike road warmly welcomed him. He had concluded to rest a
little and refresh his horse.
As he lighted his cigar and sat down on the porch, the first person he
saw was Dora Staples.
"I am really so delighted to see you, Mr. Mallard," she said in her
pretty lisping accent.
"I had not expected to see you before the fourteenth. We have not had
an acknowledgment of the invitation to our ball which we sent you and
your wife a week ago; but I feel sure you won't disappoint us. We count
upon you two as our most particular guests."
Eugene flushed hotly.
"Oh, certainly," he said. "I hope you will pardon my not answering your
kind favor at once. I will see that my wife writes you and accepts the
invitation."
"By the way," went on Dora. "I saw Mr. Hollis only yesterday. We went
to Richmond to do some shopping, and the first person I met was Mr.
Hollis. I am sure he tried to avoid me, though he says he didn't. I
told him about the ball, as I did not know where to send the invitation
to him. I told him that you and Mrs. Mallard would be there, and that
all we now needed to make the affair as pleasant as the one at your
house was his presence.
"'I will come if I can,' he said; 'but don't feel hard toward me if
I should fail to be there. I have a matter of considerable importance
on hand for that date, and I do not know just how I will be able to
arrange it.'"
Eugene Mallard drove slowly homeward. Although he tried to banish
Dora's words from his mind, yet they still haunted him.
What was Arthur Hollis doing in Richmond? He was more puzzled over it
than he cared to own.
As he rode up to the door, he saw Ida on the veranda, talking to a
group of friends. It then struck him as it had never struck him before
that his young wife was very handsome; and he was beginning to wonder
how it was that he had been so blind as to not see that which was
attracting the attention of every one else.
She wore a tight-fitting dress of pale-blue silk, with a crimson rose
in its bodice. She held a bunch of roses in her white hand. There were
several other ladies present, but not one of them could compare with
her.
For the first time since his marriage a feeling of exultation stole
into his heart at the thought that this peerless creature belonged
solely to him.
They were speaking of the grand ball the Staples's were to give, and
commenting on what they were going to wear.
"How about _you_, Mrs. Mallard? What are _you_ going to wear? Don't
keep what you are going to wear a secret, and then spring some
wonderful creation upon our wondering gaze."
"I assure you," said Ida, "that I have no intention of doing anything
of the kind. Indeed," she declared, earnestly, "in sending out the
invitations, I am _sure_ they have forgotten us!"
At this juncture, Eugene stepped forward, saying:
"Is there any excuse a man can offer for forgetting so great a favor
as an invitation to a grand ball? That is exactly what has occurred.
I received the invitation for the Staples's ball one day last
week. I should have taken it direct to my wife, but you know that
'procrastination is the thief of time.' It has proved so in this case.
I laid it down, and in the press of other matters, I forgot it. My
papers must have covered it, and the matter entirely escaped my mind
until to-day."
"Of course you will go?" remarked the ladies in chorus.
"Oh, yes; we are sure to do so," he responded.
A little later he found Ida alone in the drawing-room.
"I do hope you will look your best at this particular ball," he said.
"The governor of the State; in fact, any number of my old friends will
be there. I want you to wear your most becoming dress, and all the
family diamonds."
Ida had been looking down calmly at the roses she held. But as mention
of the diamonds fell from her husband's lips, a change that was
alarming came over her face.
She grew white as death; her eyes lost their light. The roses which she
held fell to her feet.
"Why, Ida, you look as if it were an occasion for sorrow instead of one
of joy," Eugene remarked.
"What is the date of the ball?" she asked.
"The fourteenth," he responded.
Again that ashen pallor spread over her face, leaving it white to the
lips.
That was the date upon which Royal Ainsley was to bring her child to
her.
What was the great ball to her compared with this event?
While in the village Eugene had got the money she had asked of him. He
had handed it to her inclosed in an envelope.
Oh, how kind and good he was to her! How very despicable it was to
deceive him! But what could she do? Fate was against her.
Eugene could not help but notice the intense excitement under which she
labored during the time that elapsed to the coming of the ball. She
longed, yet dreaded to have the day arrive.
The day came at last, bright and clear. There was no cloud in the blue
sky; the sun shone brightly in the heavens. She was glad that there
were several guests at the house, as her husband would not have much
opportunity of observing her.
How that day passed she never knew. One moment she was as white as
death, the next she flushed as red as a rose.
"Heaven help me to live over the excitement of to-day!" she murmured,
clasping her hands tightly.
She prayed for the noonday to linger. But time, which stays at no man's
bidding, rolled on. The sun went down in a sweep of crimson glory; dusk
gathered and deepened into the darkness of night.
Seven o'clock sounded from the pearl-and-gold clock on the mantel.
Seven o'clock resounded from the great brass-throated clock in the main
hall.
"Nora," said Ida to her maid, "go down to the library and tell Mr.
Mallard that I am indisposed and can not go with him to the ball, but
that I earnestly pray he will go without me, and enjoy himself. Say
that I wish particularly that he should go; and notice what he says,
Nora, and come back and tell me."
It seemed to Ida that Nora would never deliver the message.
Why did she linger? At last the girl returned.
"What did he say, Nora?" she asked, breathlessly, fixing her startled
eyes eagerly on the girl's face.
"He made no reply, ma'am," returned Nora; "but I am sure he will go,
since you so earnestly requested it."