This took place when Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridge's pony-carriage passed her as she sat by the side of the broad shaded road, and the woman's splendid black eyes met hers. When her husband passed her without seeing her, absorbed in passionate admiration, which any child must have recognized as such, for the beautiful woman whose pony-carriage was like a triumphal chariot, so royal and conquering of aspect was she.
Keen were the tormentors, and full of avidity, and subtle was the new device to tax the recruited strength and mock the brief repose. It was raging, fierce, fiery, maddening jealousy.
It was late in the afternoon of the day on which Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridge had sent her answer to Mr. Felton's note, and while George Dallas was sitting with Mrs. Routh, that the beautiful widow and her companion--this time exploring the forest glades in another direction, in which they met but few of the visitors to the springs--once more mentioned Mr. Felton and his son. The gray ponies were going slowly, and the French groom in attendance was considering the probable direction of the "affair" in which his mistress had so precipitately engaged herself, and which, being conducted in the English tongue, was interpreted to him by glances and tones only. The beauty of the face on which Stewart Routh was gazing in an intensity of admiration, with a certain desperation in it, in which a cleverer woman than this one would have seen indications of character to warn and alarm her, but which this one merely recognized as a tribute due to her, was marvellously bright and soft, as the slanting rays of the sun came through the tree stems, and touched it lingeringly, lovingly. Her black eyes had wonderful gleams and reflections in them, and the masses of her dark hair were daintily tinged and tipped with russet tints. She was looking a little thoughtful, a little dreamy. Was she tired, for the moment, of sparkling? Was she resting herself in an array of the semblance of tenderness, more enchanting still?
"You knew him, then, in your husband's lifetime? He is not a new acquaintance?"
"What a catechist you are!" she said, with just a momentary glance at him, and the least flicker of a smile. "I did know him in my husband's lifetime, who highly disapproved of him, if you care for that piece of information; we were great friends and he was rather inclined to presume upon the fact afterwards."
She lingered upon the word, and gave it all the confirmatory expression Routh had expected and feared.
"And yet you make an appointment with him to meet him here, in this place, where every one is remarked and speculated upon; here, alone, where you are without even a companion--" He paused, and with a light, mocking laugh, inexpressibly provoking, she said:
"Why don't you say a 'sheep-dog'! We know the immortal Becky quite as well as you do. In the first place, my appointment with Arthur Felton means simply nothing. I am just as likely to break it as to keep it; to go to London, or Vienna, or Timbuctoo, to-morrow, if the fancy takes me; or to stay here, and have him told I'm not at home when he calls, only that would please his father; and Mr. Felton is about the only male creature of my acquaintance whom I don't want to please. In the second place, I don't care one straw who remarks me, or what they remark, and have no notion of allowing public opinion to take precedence of my pleasure."
She laughed again, a saucy laugh which he did not like, gave him another glance and another flicker of her eyelash, and said:
"Why, how extremely preposterous you are! You know well, if I cared what people could, would, might, or should say, I would not allow you to visit me every day, and I would not drive you out alone like this."