He saw the faint yet meaning flash that left her dark-blue eyes, and he read clearly, too, the significance of her bright smile, as she said:—
"Ah, you reassure me. For I had my doubts; I confess it, now."
"So had I," he returned. "But they are at rest forever, as I want yours to be." ...
At an early hour, the next morning, Mrs. Van Horn surprised her friend and kinswoman, Mrs. Ridgeway Lee, in the latter's pretty and quaint boudoir, that was Japanese enough, as regarded hangings and adornments, to have been the sacred retreat of some almond-eyed Yeddo belle.
Mrs. Lee had had her coffee, and was deep in one of Zola's novels when her friend was announced. Her coupé would appear at twelve, and take her to a certain small religious hospital of which she was one of the most assiduous patrons; but she always read Zola, or some author of a similar Gallic intensity, while she digested her coffee.
She had concealed the novel, however, by the time that Mrs. Van Horn had swept her draperies between the Oriental jars and screens.
"I have come to talk with you about that affair—that plan, Sylvia," said her visitor, dropping into a chair.
"You mean ... to-morrow, Cornelia?"
"Yes.... By the way, have you seen the morning papers?"
"I glanced over one of them—the 'Herald,' I think. It said, in the society column, that I wore magenta at the Charity Ball last night. As if I would disgrace myself with that hideous color! These monsters of the newspapers ought to be suppressed in some way."