Phyllis of Philistia [74]
assure you."
She was sitting up now looking at him with lovely laughing eyes. (After all, she was no guilty wife.)
"What, you can't see the connection?" he said slowly. "You can sew over your dress about fifty thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, and yet you don't see the connection between the wearing of that dress and the development of a gold mine by your husband?"
"I think I see it now--something of a connection. But I don't want any more diamonds; I don't care if you take all that are sewed about the dress and throw them into the river. That's how I feel this morning."
"I heard some time ago of a woman who had something of your mood upon her one day. She had some excellent diamonds, and in one of her moods, she flung them into the river. She was a wife and she had a lover who disappointed her. The story reads very smoothly in verse."
She laughed.
"I have no lover," she said--was it mournfully? "I have a husband, it is true; but he is not exactly of the type of King Arthur--nor Sir Galahad, for that matter. I hope you found Paris as enjoyable as ever?"
"Quite. I never saw at Paris a more enrapturing toilet than yours of last night. You are, I know, the handsomest woman of my acquaintance, and you looked handsomer than I had ever before seen you in that costume. I wonder why you put it on."
"Didn't someone--was it Phyllis?--suggest that it was an act of inspiration; that I had a secret, mysterious prompting to put it on to achieve the object which--well, which I did achieve."
"Object? What object?"
"To make my husband fall in love with me again."
"Ah! In love there is no again. I wonder where a telegram would find Herbert."
"Don't worry yourself about him. Let him enjoy his holiday."
"Do you fancy he is enjoying himself with Earlscourt and his boon companions? They'll be playing poker from morning till night-- certainly from night till morning."
"Why should he go on the cruise if he was not certain to enjoy himself?"
"Ah, that question is too much for me. Think over it yourself and let me know if you come to a solution, my dear."
He rose and left the room before she could make any answer--before she could make an attempt to find out in what direction his thoughts regarding the departure of Herbert Courtland were moving.
She wondered if he had any suspicion in regard to Herbert and herself. He was not a man given to suspicion, or at any rate, given to allowing whatever suspicion he may have felt, to be apparent. He had allowed her to drive and to ride with Herbert Courtland during the four months they had been together, first at Egypt, then at Florence, Vienna, Munich, and Paris, and he could not have but seen that Herbert and she had a good many sympathies in common. Not a word had been breathed, however, of a suspicion that they were more than good friends to each other.
(As a matter of fact, they had not been more than good friends to each other; but then some husbands are given to unworthy suspicions.)
Could it be possible, she asked herself, that some people with nasty minds had suggested to him in Paris that she and Herbert were together a great deal in London, and that he had been led to make this sudden visit, this surprise visit to London, with a view of satisfying himself as to the truth of the nasty reports--the disgraceful calumnies which had reached his ears?
If he had done so, all that could be said was that he had been singularly unfortunate in regard to his visit. "Unfortunate" was the word which was in her mind, though, of course /"fortunate"/ was the word which should have occurred to her. It was certainly a fortunate result of his visit--that tableau in the drawing room of Mr. Ayrton: Ella and her dearest friend standing side by side, hand in hand, as he entered. A surprise visit, it may have been, but assuredly the surprise was a pleasant one for the husband, if he had listened to the voice of calumny.
And then, after pondering upon this with a smiling face, her smile suddenly vanished. She was overwhelmed with the thought of what might have
She was sitting up now looking at him with lovely laughing eyes. (After all, she was no guilty wife.)
"What, you can't see the connection?" he said slowly. "You can sew over your dress about fifty thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, and yet you don't see the connection between the wearing of that dress and the development of a gold mine by your husband?"
"I think I see it now--something of a connection. But I don't want any more diamonds; I don't care if you take all that are sewed about the dress and throw them into the river. That's how I feel this morning."
"I heard some time ago of a woman who had something of your mood upon her one day. She had some excellent diamonds, and in one of her moods, she flung them into the river. She was a wife and she had a lover who disappointed her. The story reads very smoothly in verse."
She laughed.
"I have no lover," she said--was it mournfully? "I have a husband, it is true; but he is not exactly of the type of King Arthur--nor Sir Galahad, for that matter. I hope you found Paris as enjoyable as ever?"
"Quite. I never saw at Paris a more enrapturing toilet than yours of last night. You are, I know, the handsomest woman of my acquaintance, and you looked handsomer than I had ever before seen you in that costume. I wonder why you put it on."
"Didn't someone--was it Phyllis?--suggest that it was an act of inspiration; that I had a secret, mysterious prompting to put it on to achieve the object which--well, which I did achieve."
"Object? What object?"
"To make my husband fall in love with me again."
"Ah! In love there is no again. I wonder where a telegram would find Herbert."
"Don't worry yourself about him. Let him enjoy his holiday."
"Do you fancy he is enjoying himself with Earlscourt and his boon companions? They'll be playing poker from morning till night-- certainly from night till morning."
"Why should he go on the cruise if he was not certain to enjoy himself?"
"Ah, that question is too much for me. Think over it yourself and let me know if you come to a solution, my dear."
He rose and left the room before she could make any answer--before she could make an attempt to find out in what direction his thoughts regarding the departure of Herbert Courtland were moving.
She wondered if he had any suspicion in regard to Herbert and herself. He was not a man given to suspicion, or at any rate, given to allowing whatever suspicion he may have felt, to be apparent. He had allowed her to drive and to ride with Herbert Courtland during the four months they had been together, first at Egypt, then at Florence, Vienna, Munich, and Paris, and he could not have but seen that Herbert and she had a good many sympathies in common. Not a word had been breathed, however, of a suspicion that they were more than good friends to each other.
(As a matter of fact, they had not been more than good friends to each other; but then some husbands are given to unworthy suspicions.)
Could it be possible, she asked herself, that some people with nasty minds had suggested to him in Paris that she and Herbert were together a great deal in London, and that he had been led to make this sudden visit, this surprise visit to London, with a view of satisfying himself as to the truth of the nasty reports--the disgraceful calumnies which had reached his ears?
If he had done so, all that could be said was that he had been singularly unfortunate in regard to his visit. "Unfortunate" was the word which was in her mind, though, of course /"fortunate"/ was the word which should have occurred to her. It was certainly a fortunate result of his visit--that tableau in the drawing room of Mr. Ayrton: Ella and her dearest friend standing side by side, hand in hand, as he entered. A surprise visit, it may have been, but assuredly the surprise was a pleasant one for the husband, if he had listened to the voice of calumny.
And then, after pondering upon this with a smiling face, her smile suddenly vanished. She was overwhelmed with the thought of what might have