Madeline went impassively to the dinner. His brilliancy had impressed
her but she was indifferent to everything these days and her intellect
was torpid; although when in society and under the influence of the
lights and wine she could be almost as animated as ever. But the
novelty of that society had worn thin long since; she continued to go
out partly as a matter of routine, more perhaps because she had no
other resource. She saw less of her husband than ever, for his practice
as well as his masculine acquaintance grew with the city--and that was
swarming over the hills of the north and out toward the sand dunes of
the west. But she was resigned, and inappetent. She had even ceased to
wish for children. The future stretched before her interminable and
dull. A railroad had been built across the continent and she had asked
permission recently of her husband to visit her parents: her mother was
now an invalid and Mr. Chilton would not leave her.
But the doctor was more nearly angry than she had ever seen him. He
couldn't live without her. He must always know she was "there."
Moreover, she was run down, she was thin and pale, he must keep her
under his eye. But if he was worried about her health he was still more
worried at her apparent desire to leave him for months. Did she no
longer love him? Her response was not emphatic and he went out and
bought her a diamond bracelet. At least she was thankful that it had
been bought for her and not sent to his wife by mistake, an experience
that had happened the other day to Maria Groome. The town had rocked
with laughter and Groome had made a hurried trip East on business. But
Madeleine no longer found consolation in the reflection that things
might be worse. The sensation of jealousy would have been a welcome
relief from this spiritual and mental inertia.
She wore a dress of bright golden-green grosgrain silk trimmed with
crepe leaves a shade deeper. The pointed bodice displayed her shoulders
in a fashion still beloved of royal ladies, and her soft golden-brown
hair was dressed in a high chignon with a long curl descending over the
left side of her bust. A few still clung to the low chignon, others had
adopted a fashion set by the Empress Eugenie and wore their hair in a
mass of curls on the nape of the neck; but Madeleine received the
latest advices from a sister-in-law who lived in New York; and as
femininity dies hard she still felt a mild pleasure in introducing the
latest cry in fashion. As she was the last to arrive she would have
been less than woman if she had not felt a glow at the sensation she
made. The color came back to her cheeks as the women surrounded her
with ecstatic compliments and peered at the coiffure from all sides.
The diamond bracelet was barely noticed.
"I adopt it tomorrow," said Mrs. McLane emphatically. "With my white
hair I shall look more like an old marquise than ever."
One of the other women ran into Masters' bedroom where they had left
their wraps and emerged in a few moments with a lifted chignon and a
straggling curl. Amid exclamations and laughter two more followed suit,
while the host and the other men waited patiently for their dinner. It
was a lively party that finally sat down, and it was the gayest if the
most momentous of Masters' little functions.
His eyes strayed toward Madeleine more than once, for her success had
excited her and she had never looked lovelier. She was at the other end
of the table and Mrs. McLane and Mrs. Ballinger sat beside him. She
interested him for the first time and he adroitly drew her history from
his mentor (not that he deluded that astute lady for an instant, but
she dearly loved to gossip).
"She is going through one of those crises that all young wives must
expect," she concluded. "If it isn't one thing it's another. She is
still very young, and inclined to be romantic. She expected too
much--of a husband, mon dieu! Of course she is lonely or thinks she is.
Too bad youth never can realize that it is enough to be young. And with
beauty, and means, and position, and charming frocks! She will grow
philosophical--when it is too late. Meanwhile a little flirtation would
not hurt her and Howard Talbot does not know the meaning of the word
jealousy. Why don't you take her in hand?"
"Not my line. But it seems odd that Talbot should neglect her. She
looks intelligent and she is certainly beautiful."
"Oh, Howard! He is the best of men but the worst of husbands."
Her attention was claimed by the man on her right and at the same
moment Madeleine's had evidently been drawn to the wall of books behind
her. She turned, craned her neck, forgetting her partner.
Then, Masters saw a strange thing. Her eyes filled with tears and she
continued to stare at the books in complete absorption until her
attention was laughingly recalled.
"Now, that is odd," thought Masters. "Very odd."
She felt his keen gaze and laughed with a curious eagerness as she met
his eyes. He guessed that for the first time he had interested her.
X
After dinner the men went into his den to smoke, but before his cigar
was half finished he muttered something about his duty to the ladies
and returned to the parlor. As he had half expected, Madeleine was
standing before the books scanning their titles, and as he approached
she drew her hand caressingly across a shelf devoted to the poets. The
other women were gossiping at the end of the long room.
"You are fond of books!" he said abruptly.
She had not noticed his reappearance. She was startled and exclaimed
passionately, "I loved them--once! But it is a long time since I have
read anything but an occasional novel."
"But why? Why?"
He had powerful gray eyes and they magnetized the truth out of her.
"My husband thinks it is a woman's sole duty to look charming. He was
afraid I would become a bluestocking and lose my charm and spoil my
looks. I brought many books with me, but I never opened the cases and
finally gave them to the Mercantile Library. I have never gone to look
at them."
"Good heaven!" He had never felt sorrier for a woman who had asked alms
of him in the street.
She was looking at him eagerly. "Perhaps--you won't mind--you will lend
me--I don't think my husband would notice now--he is never at home
except for breakfast and dinner--"
"Will I? For heaven's sake look upon them as your own. What will you
take with you to-night?"
"Oh! Nothing! Perhaps you will send me one tomorrow?"
"One? I'll send a dozen. Let us select them now."
But at this moment the other men entered and she whispered hurriedly,
"Will you select and send them? Any--any--I don't care what."
The doctor came toward them full of good wine and laughter. The books
meant nothing to him. He had forgotten his wife's inexplicable taste
for serious literature. He now found her quite perfect but was worried
about her health. The tonics and horseback riding he had prescribed
seemed to have little effect.
"I am going to take you away and send you to bed," he said jovially.
"No sitting up after nine o'clock until you are yourself again, and not
another ball this winter. A wife is a great responsibility, Masters.
Any other woman is easier to prescribe for, but the wife of your bosom
knows you so well she can fool you, as no woman who expects a bill
twice a year would dare to do. Still, she's pretty good, pretty good.
She's never had an attack of nerves, nor fainted yet. And as for
'blues' she doesn't know the meaning of the word. Come along,
sweetheart."
Madeleine smiled half cynically, half wistfully, shook hands with her
host and made him a pretty little speech, nodded to the others and went
obediently to bed. The doctor, whose manners were courtly, escorted her
to the door of their parlor and returned to Masters' rooms. The other
women left immediately afterward, and as it was Saturday night, he and
his host and Mr. McLane talked until nearly morning.