“Naturally Mr. Holt answered to this communication in person. Jacqueline received him with a fitful coquetry that evidently puzzled him, for all the distinguishing charm which it added to a beauty apt to be too reserved and statue-like. She however took his ring which blazed on her finger like a drop of ice on congealed snow. ‘I am engaged,’ she murmured as she passed by my door, ‘and to a Holt!’ The words rang long in my ears; why?
“She desired no congratulations; she permitted nothing to be said about her engagement, among the neighbors. She had even taken off her ring which I found lying loose in one of her bureau drawers. And no one dared to remonstrate, not even her father, punctillious as he was in all matters of social etiquette. The fact is, Jacqueline was not the same girl she had been before she gave her promise to Mr. Holt. From the moment he bade her good-bye, with the remark that he was going away to get a golden cage for his bride, she began to reveal a change. The cold reserve gave way to feverish expectancy. She trod these rooms as if there were burning steels in the floors, she looked from the windows as if they were prison bars; night and day she gazed from them yet she never went out. The letters she received from him were barely read and tossed aside; it was his coming for which she hungered. Her father noticed her restless and eager gaze, and frequently sighed. I felt her strange removed manner and secretly wept. ‘If he does not amply return this passion,’ thought I, ‘my darling will find her life a hell!’
“But he did return it; of that I felt sure. It was my only comfort.
“Suddenly one day the restlessness vanished. Her beauty burst like a flame from smoke; she trod like a spirit that hears invisible airs. I watched her with amazement till she said ‘Mr. Holt comes to-night,’ then I thought all was explained and went smiling about my work. She came down in the afternoon clad as I had never seen her before. She wore one of her Boston dresses and she looked superb in it. From the crown of her head to the sole of her foot, she dazzled like a moving picture; but she lacked one adornment; there was no ring on her finger. ‘Jacqueline!’ cried I, ‘you have forgotten something.’ And I pointed towards her hand.
“She glanced at it, blushed a trifle as I thought, and pulled it out of her pocket. ‘I have it,’ said she, ‘but it is too large,’ and she thrust it carelessly back.
“At three o’clock the train came in. Then I saw her eye flash and her lip burn. In a few minutes later two gentlemen appeared at the gate.
“‘Mr. Holt and his brother!’ were the words I heard whispered through the house. But I did not need that announcement to understand Jacqueline at last.”
XXVI.
A MAN’S JUSTICE AND A WOMAN’S MERCY.