“Well?”
“She’s intimate with the new doctor.”
“Wyant?” Mr. Langhope’s interest dropped. “What of that? I believe she knew him before.”
“I daresay. It’s of no special importance, except as giving us a possible clue to her character. She strikes me as interesting and mysterious.”
Mr. Langhope smiled. “The things your imagination does for you!”
“It helps me to see that we may find Miss Brent useful as a friend.”
“A friend?”
“An ally.” She paused, as if searching for a word. “She may restore the equilibrium.”
Mr. Langhope’s handsome face darkened. “Open Bessy’s eyes to Amherst? Damn him!” he said quietly.
Mrs. Ansell let the imprecation pass. “When was he last here?” she asked.
“Five or six weeks ago—for one night. His only visit since she came back from the Adirondacks.”
“What do you think his motive is? He must know what he risks in losing his hold on Bessy.”
“His motive? With your eye for them, can you ask? A devouring ambition, that’s all! Haven’t you noticed that, in all except the biggest minds, ambition takes the form of wanting to command where one has had to obey? Amherst has been made to toe the line at Westmore, and now he wants Truscomb—yes, and Halford Gaines, too!—to do the same. That’s the secret of his servant-of-the-people pose—gad, I believe it’s the whole secret of his marriage! He’s devouring my daughter’s substance to pay off an old score against the mills. He’ll never rest till he has Truscomb out, and some creature of his own in command—and then,
Mrs. Ansell mused. “You didn’t write me that things were so bad. There’s been no actual quarrel?” she asked.
“How can there be, when the poor child does all he wants? He’s simply too busy to come and thank her!”
“Too busy at Hanaford?”
“So he says. Introducing the golden age at Westmore—it’s likely to be the age of copper at Lynbrook.”
Mrs. Ansell drew a meditative breath. “I was thinking of that. I understood that Bessy would have to retrench while the changes at Westmore were going on.”
“Well—didn’t she give up Europe, and cable over to countermand her new motor?”
“But the life here! This mob of people! Miss Brent tells me the house is full for every week-end.”
“Would you have my daughter cut off from all her friends?”
Mrs. Ansell met this promptly. “From some of the new ones, at any rate! Have you heard who has just arrived?”
Mr. Langhope’s hesitation showed a tinge of embarrassment. “I’m not sure—some one has always just arrived.”
“Well, the Fenton Carburys, then!” Mrs. Ansell left it to her tone to annotate the announcement.
Mr. Langhope raised his eyebrows slightly. “Are they likely to be an exceptionally costly pleasure?”
“If you’re trying to prove that I haven’t kept to the point—I can assure you that I’m well within it!”
“But since the good Blanche has got her divorce and married Carbury, wherein do they differ from other week- end automata?”
“Because most divorced women marry again to be respectable.”
Mr. Langhope smiled faintly. “Yes—that’s their punishment. But it would be too dull for Blanche.”
“Precisely.
“Ah—that may yet be hers!”
Mrs. Ansell sighed at his perversity. “Meanwhile, she’s brought him here, and it is unnatural to see Bessy lending herself to such combinations.”
“You’re corrupted by a glimpse of the old societies. Here Bowfort and Carbury are simply hands at bridge.”
“Old hands at it—yes! And the bridge is another point: Bessy never used to play for money.”
“Well, she may make something, and offset her husband’s prodigalities.”
“There again—with this
Mr. Langhope grown suddenly grave, struck his cane resoundingly on the terrace. “Westmore and Lynbrook? I don’t want them to—I want them to get farther and farther apart!”
She cast on him a look of startled divination. “You want Bessy to go on spending too much money?”
“How can I help it if it costs?”
“If what costs—?” She stopped, her eyes still wide; then their glances crossed, and she exclaimed: “If your scheme costs? It
He shrugged his shoulders again. “It’s a passive attitude–-“
