THE effort to interest her husband in things purely intellectual
failed, and a shade of disappointment settled on the feelings of
Mrs. Dexter. She soared, altogether, too far up into the mental
atmosphere for him. He thought her ideal and transcendental; and she
felt that only the sensual principles in his mind were living and
active. Conversation died between them, and both relapsed into that
abstracted silence--musing on one side and moody on the other--which
filled so large a portion of their time when together.
"Shall we go down to the parlors?" said Mr. Dexter, rousing himself.
"The afternoon is running away fast towards evening."
"I am more fatigued than usual," was answered, "and do not care to
make my appearance before tea-time. You go down; and I will occupy
myself with a book. When the tea-bell rings, I will wait for you to
come and escort me to the table."
Mr. Dexter did not urge his wife to leave their rooms, but went down
as she had suggested. The moment he left her, there occurred a great
change in her whole appearance. She was sitting on a lounge by the
window. Instead of rising to get a book, or seeking for any external
means of passing a solitary hour, she shrunk down in her seat,
letting her eyes droop gradually to the floor. At first, her
countenance was disturbed; but its aspect changed to one of deep
abstraction. And thus she sat for nearly an hour. The opening of her
room door startled her into a life of external consciousness.
Her husband entered. She glanced at his face, and saw that something
had occurred to ruffle his feelings. He looked at her strangely for
some moments, as if searching for expected meanings in her
countenance.
"Are you not well?" Mrs. Dexter asked.
"Oh, yes, I'm well enough," he answered with unusual abruptness of
manner.
She said no more, and he commenced pacing the floor of their small
parlor backwards and forwards with restless footsteps.
Once, without moving her head or body, Mrs. Dexter stole a glance
towards her husband; she encountered his eyes turning stealthily
upon her, and scanning her face with an earnest scrutiny. A moment
their eyes lingered, mutually spell-bound, and then the glances were
mutually withdrawn. Mr. Dexter continued his nervous perambulations,
and his wife remained seated and silent.
The ringing of the bell announced tea. Mr. Dexter paused, and Mrs.
Dexter, rising without remark, took his arm, and they went down to
the dining-hall, neither of them speaking a word. On taking her
place at the table, Mrs. Dexter's eyes ran quickly up and down the
lines of faces opposite.
This was done with so slight a movement of the head, that her
husband, who was on the alert, did not detect the rapid observation.
For some three or four minutes the guests came filing in, and all
the while Mrs. Dexter kept glancing from face to face. She did not
move her head or seem interested in the people around her; but her
eyes told a very different story. Twice the waiter asked if she
would take tea or coffee, before she noticed him, and her answer,
"Coffee," apprised her watchful husband of the fact that she was
more than usually lost in thought.
"Not coffee?" Mr. Dexter bent to his wife's ear.
"No, black tea," she said, quickly, partly turning to the waiter. "I
was not thinking," she added, speaking to her husband. At the moment
Mrs. Dexter turned towards the waiter, she leaned forward, over the
table, and gave a rapid glance down at the row of faces on that
side; and in replying to her husband, she managed to do the same
thing for the other end of the table. No change in her countenance
attested the fact that her search for some desired or expected
personage had been successful. The half emptied cup of tea, and
merely broken piece of toast lying on her plate, showed plainly
enough that either indisposition or mental disturbance, had deprived
her of appetite.
From the tea table they went to one of the parlors. Only a few
gentlemen and ladies were there, most of the guests preferring a
stroll out of doors, or an evening drive.
"Shall we ride? It is early yet, and the full moon will rise as the
sun goes down."
"I have ridden enough to day," Mrs. Dexter answered. "Fatigue has
made me nervous. But don't let that prevent your taking a drive."
"I shall not enjoy it unless you are with me," said Mr. Dexter.
"Then I will go." Mrs. Dexter did not speak fretfully, nor in the
martyr tone we often hear, but in a voice of unexpected
cheerfulness. "Order the carriage," she added, as she rose; "I will
get my bonnet and shawl, and join you here by the time it is at the
door."
"No--no, Jessie! Not if you are so fatigued. I had forgotten our
journey to-day," interposed Mr. Dexter.
"A ride in the bracing salt air will do me good, perhaps. I am, at
least, disposed to make the trial. So order the carriage, and I will
be with you in a moment."
Mrs. Dexter spoke with a suddenly outflashing animation, and then
left her husband to make preparations for accompanying him in the
drive. She had passed through the parlor door on to one of the long
porticoes of the building, and was moving rapidly, when, just before
reaching the end, where another door communicated with a stairway,
she suddenly stood still, face to face with a man who had stepped
from that door out upon the portico.
"Jess--Mrs. Dexter!" the man checked the unguarded utterance of her
familiar Christian name, and gave the other designation.
"Mr. Hendrickson!"
Only for an instant did Mrs. Dexter betray herself; but in that
instant her heart was read, as if a blaze of lightning had flashed
over one of its pages, long hidden away in darkness, and revealed
the writing thereon in letters of gleaming fire.
"You arrived to day?" Mr. Hendrickson also regained the even balance
of mind which had momentarily been lost, and regained it as quickly
as the lady. He spoke with the pleased air of an acquaintance--nothing
more.
"This afternoon," replied Mrs. Dexter in a quiet tone, and with a
smile in which no casual observer could have seen anything deeper
than pleasant recognition.
"How long will you remain?"
"It is not certain; perhaps until the season closes."
Mrs. Dexter made a motion to pass on. Mr. Hendrickson raised his hat
and bowed very respectfully; and thus the sudden interview ended.
Mr. Dexter had followed his wife to the door of the parlor, and
stood looking at her as she retired along the portico. This meeting
with Hendrickson was therefore in full view. A sudden paleness
overspread his countenance; and from his convulsed lips there fell a
bitter imprecation.
On reaching her apartments, Mrs. Dexter was so weak that she was
forced to sit down upon the first chair she could obtain. A dead
pallor was in her face.
"Oh, give me strength--self control--motives to duty!"--in weakness
and fear her quivering heart cried upwards.
"Jessie!" How long she had been sitting thus Mrs. Dexter knew not.
She started. It was the voice of her husband.
"Not ready yet, I see!" His tones were rough--his manner excited.
"And the carriage has stood at the door for ten minutes."
"I am ready!" she answered, starting up, and lifting her bonnet from
the bed.
"It is no matter now. The sun is setting, and I have ordered the
carriage back to the stable. You only consented to go on my account;
and I am impatient under mere acquiescence."
"You wrong me, Mr. Dexter," said his wife, with unusual
earnestness of manner. "I am ready to go with you at all times; and
I strive in all things to give you pleasure. Did I hesitate a moment
when you suddenly declared your wish to leave Saratoga for Newport?"
"No, of course you did not; for you were too glad of the opportunity
to get here." There was a strange gleam in the eyes of Mr. Dexter as
he said this; and his voice had in it an angry bitterness never
before observed.
"What do you mean, sir?" demanded the outraged wife, turning upon
her husband abruptly, and showing an aspect so stern and fierce,
that the astonished man retreated a pace or two as if in fear. Never
before had he seen in that beautiful face the reflection of a spirit
so wildly disturbed by passion.
"Speak out, Leon Dexter! What do you mean?"
And her eyes rested on his with a glance as steady as an eagle's.
"I saw your meeting a little while ago."
Mr. Dexter rallied a little.
"What meeting?" There was no betraying sign in Mrs. Dexter's face,
nor the least faltering in her tones.
"Your meeting with _him_."
"With whom? Speak out plainly, sir! I am in no mood for trifling,
and in no condition for solving riddles."
"With Paul Hendrickson." Dexter pronounced the name slowly, and with
all the meaning emphasis he could throw into his voice.
"Well, sir, what of that?" Still neither eye nor voice faltered.
"Much! You see that I understand you!"
"I see that you do not understand me," was firmly answered. "And
now, sir, will you suffer me to demand an explanation of your
language just now. I want no evasion--no faltering--no holding back.
'Too glad of an opportunity to get here!' That was the sentence. Its
meaning, sir?"
The small head of Mrs. Dexter was erect; her nostrils distended; her
lips closely laid upon each other; her eyes full fixed and almost
fiery in their intense light. Suddenly she was transformed in the
eyes of her husband from a yielding, gentle, though cold woman into
the very spirit of accusation and defiance. He was silent; for he
saw that he had gone too far.
"That must be explained, sir!" She was not to be turned aside. "I
have noted your capricious conduct; your singular glances at times;
your strange moodiness without apparent cause. A little light has
given a faint impression of their meaning. But I must have the full
blaze of your thoughts. Nothing else will satisfy me now."
She paused. Mr. Dexter had indeed gone a step too far, a fact of
which he was painfully aware. He had conjured up a spirit that it
might not be easy to lay.
"You are too excited. Calm yourself," he said.
Turning from her husband, Mrs. Dexter crossed the room, and seating
herself upon a sofa, said, in a quiet way--
"Sit down beside me, Mr. Dexter. I am calm. Sit down and speak; for
your recent language must be explained. Evasion will be fruitless--I
will not accept of it."
"I spoke hastily. Forget my words."
Mr. Dexter sat down beside his wife, and spoke in a gentle soothing
manner.
"It is all in vain, Mr. Dexter! All in vain! Yours were no idle
words; and I can never forget them. You have greatly misapprehended
your wife, I see; and the quicker you know this the better it will
be for both of us. The time has come for explanation--and it shall
be made! Why did I wish to come to Newport?"
"You knew that Paul Hendrickson was here," said Mr. Dexter; "that
was the reason!"
"It is false, sir!" was the quick and sharp rejoinder.
"Jessie! beware how you speak!" The angry blood mounted to the very
brow of the husband.
"It is false, sir!" she repeated, even more emphatically, if that
were possible. "Of his movements I am as ignorant as you are!"
"I cannot tamely bear such words," said Mr. Dexter, still much
excited.
"And _I will not_ bear such imputations," was firmly rejoined.
Mr. Dexter arose, and commenced the unsatisfactory movement of
pacing the floor. Mrs. Dexter remained sitting firmly erect, her
eyes following the form of her husband.
"We will drop the subject now and forever," said the former,
stopping, at length, in front of his wife.
Mrs. Dexter did not reply.
"I may have been too hasty."
"_May_ have been!" There was contempt on the lip, and indignation in
the voice of Mrs. Dexter.
"Yes, _may_. We are certain of nothing in this world," said her
husband, coldly; "and now, as I said, we will drop the subject."
"It is easier to say than to unsay, Mr. Dexter. The sentiment is
very trite, but it involves a world of meaning sometimes, and"--she
paused, then added, with marked emphasis--"_does now_!"
Mr. Dexter made no response, and there the matter ended for the
time; each of the ill-assorted partners farther from happiness than
they had yet been since the day of their unfortunate union.