In the midst of Mr. Rhodes's uproarious laugh at one of his own jokes, she caught Mellen's answer:
"Never, darling, never! You are my one comfort—my only blessing."
With her head more proudly erect, a faint crimson beginning to burn on her cheeks, Elizabeth Mellen walked on and took her seat at the table, appearing so completely engrossed in Mr. Rhodes's conversation that she did not once meet her husband's eye.
To all but the guest, that dinner seemed interminable, but Mr. Rhodes was so busy with the delicacies Clorinda's skillful hands had prepared, and so full of himself, that he was in a perfect glow of content.
The lights danced before Elizabeth's eyes, every morsel she ate was swallowed with a pang, the wine was like a bitter drug on her lips, yet there she sat in patient endurance.
Occasionally Mellen glanced towards her, and her composure sent such a thrill of rage through his soul, that it was with difficulty he could keep from springing up and overwhelming her with the discovery he had made, on the spot.
The dinner was over at last, but tedious as it had seemed to Elizabeth, she would gladly have prolonged it: anything to lengthen the hours; to keep afar off the stillness of the night, when she must undertake that to which she had doomed herself.
But she would not think of that; she dared not; madness lay so near the dismal reflection that it must be swept from her mind.
They dragged through the evening; Elizabeth played cribbage with Mr. Rhodes, and Elsie gave snatches of desultory music at the piano; every time her fresh young voice rang out in joyous song Elizabeth started, as if an unseen dagger had struck her to the heart.
"You will all come and pass a day with us before long, I hope," Mr. Rhodes said, with exuberant hospitality, when the time came at last to order the carriage for his departure.