Again the young man was silent. He could not discover by Jessie’s manner that she had any special interest in Mrs. Denison. This was some relief; for it removed the impression that there was an understanding between them.
“I don’t admire her a great deal,” he said, with an air of indifference. “She’s a little too prying and curious; and I’m afraid, likes to gossip.”
“Ah! I thought her particularly free from that vice.”
“I had that impression also. But my interview this evening gave me a different estimate of her character.”
“Did you come from Mrs. Denison’s directly here?” asked Jessie in a changed tone, as if some thought of more than common interest had flitted through her mind. This change Dexter did not fail to observe.
“I did,” was his answer.
“Then I may infer,” said Jessie, “that your pressing desire to see me this evening has grown out of something you heard from the lips of Mrs. Denison. Am I right in this conclusion?”
Dexter was not quite prepared for this. After a slight hesitation he answered—
“Partly so.”
The cold indifferent manner of Jessie Loring passed away directly.
“If you have anything to communicate, as of course you have, say on, Mr. Dexter.”
As little prepared was he for this; and quite as little for the almost stately air with which Jessie drew up her slight form, returning his glances with so steady a gaze that his eyes fell.
The hour and the opportunity had come. But Leon Dexter had neither the manliness nor the courage to speak.
“Did Mrs. Denison introduce my name?” asked Jessie, seeing that her lover had failed to answer. There was not a quiver in her voice, nor the slightest failing in her eyes.
“Yes; casually.” Dexter spoke with evasion.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing but what was good,” said Dexter, now trying to resume his wonted pleasant exterior. “What else could she say? You look as if there had been a case of slander.”
“She said something in connection with my name,” answered Jessie firmly, “that disturbed you. Now as you have disclosed so much, I must know all.”
“I have made no disclosures.” Dexter seemed annoyed.
“You said you were at Mrs. Denison’s.”
“Yes.”
“And said it with a meaning. I noticed both tone and manner. You came directly here, according to your own admission, and asked for me. Not being well, I desired to be excused. But you would take no excuse. Your manner to the servant was not only disturbed, but imperative. To me it is constrained, and altogether different from anything I have hitherto noticed. So much is disclosed. Now I wish you to go on and tell the whole story. Then we shall understand each other. What has Mrs. Denison said about me that has so ruffled your feelings?”
There was no retreat for the perplexed young man. He must go forward in some path—straight or tortuous— manly or evasive. There was too much apparent risk in the former; and so he chose the latter. All at once his exterior changed. The clouded brow put on a sunny aspect.
“Forgive me, dear Jessie!” he said with ardor, and a restored tenderness of manner. “True love has ever a touch of jealousy; and something that Mrs. Denison intimated aroused that darker passion. But the shadowed hour has passed, and I am in the clear sunlight again.”
He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it with fervor.
“What did she intimate?” asked Miss Loring. Her manner was less excited, and her tone less imperative.
“What I now see to be false,” said Dexter. “I was disturbed because I imagined intrigue, and a purpose to rob me of something I prize more dearly than life—the love of my Jessie.”
“Intrigue!” was answered; “you fill me with surprise. Mrs. Denison, if I understand her, is incapable of anything so dishonorable.”
“I don’t know.” Mr. Dexter spoke with the manner of one in doubt, and as if questioning his own thoughts. “She has filled my mind with dark suspicions. Why, Jessie!” and he assumed a more animated exterior, “she went so far as to intimate a disingenuous spirit in you!”
“In me!” Miss Loring’s surprise was natural. “Disingenuousness!”
“That word is not the true one,” said Dexter. “What she said meant something more.”
“What?”
“That you were—but I will not pain your ears, darling! Forgive my foolish indignation. Love with me is so vital a thing, that the remotest suspicion of losing its object, brings smarting pain. You are all the world to me, Jessie, and the intimation”—
“Of what, Leon?”
He had left the sentence unfinished. Dexter was holding one of her hands. She did not attempt to withdraw it.
“That you were false to me!”
The words caused Miss Loring to spring to her feet. Bright spots burned on her cheeks, and her eyes
