Rose rang the bell and ordered the luncheon.
They sat down in apparent amity to partake of it.
The afternoon waned and evening came, but brought no Iron King back to the hotel.
"Have you any idea at what hour Mr. Rockharrt will return, dear?" inquired Mrs. Stillwater, in her most dulcet tones.
"Not the slightest."
"I think he said something about going down to Wall Street to see after the forming of a syndicate in connection with his grand speculation. What is a syndicate, dear?"
"I don't know—it may be an agency or a company—"
"Or it may be something connected with the building of the new synagogue, which it is said is to be constructed of iron."
Cora was surprised into the first laugh she had had in two years. But the mirth was very short-lived. It came and passed in an instant, and then a pang of remorse seized her heart that she could have laughed at all. She was thinking of her lost Rule, and of her own guilty share in his tragic fate. If she had not let her fancy and imagination become so dazzled by the rank and splendor of the British suitor as to blind her heart and mind for a season, as to make her think and believe that she really loved this new man, and that she had never loved, and could never love, Ruth Rothsay, though she must keep her engagement with him and marry him—had she not broken down and given way to her emotions on that fatal evening of their wedding day—then Rule would never have made his great renunciation for her sake—would never have wandered away into the wilderness to meet his death from murderous hands. How could she ever laugh again? she asked herself.
"What is the matter with you, dear?" inquired Rose, surprised at the sudden change in Cora.