The Hand but Not the Heart, Or, the Life-Trials of Jessie Loring...

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.

CHAPTER XIV.

AN hour later: Scene, the public parlor.

“Mrs. Dexter.”

The lady rose, a pleasant smile animating her face, and returned the gentleman’s courteous greeting.

“Mr. Hendrickson.” Yes, that was the name on her lips.

“You arrived to-day,” he said, and he took a place at the other end of the tete-a- tete.

“Yes.”

“From Saratoga, I believe?”

“Yes. How long have you been at Newport?”

“I arrived only this morning. You are looking very well, Mrs. Dexter.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Time lays his hands upon you lightly!”

The shadow of another’s presence came between them.

“Mr. Dexter, my husband; Mr. Hendrickson, from B—,” said Mrs. Dexter, with the most perfect ease of manner, presenting the two gentlemen. They had met before, as the reader knows, and had good reason for remembering each other. They touched hands, Dexter frowning, and Hendrickson slightly embarrassed. Mrs. Dexter entirely herself, smiling, talkative, and with an exterior as unruffled as a mountain lake.

“How long will you remain?” she asked, speaking to Mr. Hendrickson.

“Several days.”

“Ah! I am pleased to hear you say so. I left some very pleasant friends at Saratoga, but yours is the only familiar face I have yet seen here.”

“I saw Mr. and Mrs. Florence just now,” said Mr. Dexter.

“Did you?”

“Yes. There they are, at the lower end of the parlor. Do you see them?”

Mrs. Dexter turned her eyes in the direction indicated by her husband, and replied in an indifferent manner:

“Oh, yes.”