They stopped at Mrs. Gower’s house; and requesting, or rather, ordering, Mr. Wemyss to stay in the carriage, she ran lightly up the steps and let herself in. All the servants had gone to bed, by Mrs. Gower’s orders; save Justine, her maid, who was sitting waiting, with one candle, in the hall.
“Is everything ready, Justine?”
“Oui, madame,” said the maid; who had been told that her mistress was about to make a sudden trip to Boston, and had discreetly asked no unnecessary questions; her perquisites had been very handsome lately.
Flossie went up to her room, the maid attending her; and laid aside her ball-dress and her diamonds. Then she had a woman’s humor; and notwithstanding that Mr. Wemyss was waiting cold outside, she threw the satin cloak once more over her bare shoulders and wandered, with a lighted candle, all through the house. She went into the great ball-room which seemed gaunt and bare; then into the dark dining-room with its carved oak wood and its array of armor and of silver plate; then into the parlors where she had held her first reception—how well she remembered it, and her triumph over the great ladies Van Kull and the fine ladies Brevier!—and last to the little suite of rooms which she had occupied when first she came back from her wedding-journey. Poor Lucie! She wondered if he would really mind much.
When she got back to the great apartment she occupied now, the gray dawn was stealing in through the huge windows and the cold of the change of weather was already in the house. She shivered; and hastened to get dressed. Justine was all ready with a quiet travelling-dress, into which she quickly slipped her girlish figure. She had a moment’s scruple whether she should take away the diamonds—a rivière that Lucie Gower had given her when they were married. But Flossie Gower had far too logical a mind to strain at gnats when she was swallowing a camel; she hastily thrust them in her bosom, and giving the solitary candle to Justine, bade her lead the way down the stairs. This time she wasted no parting looks; after all, the house was hers, though she would leave it to Lucie for a while, for form’s sake.
It was already quite light in the street, and Mr. Wemyss was huddled in one corner of the carriage and chattering with cold. He made no reproach, however; and this time he got in beside her, and Justine took the front seat.
“Where are we going?” said Mrs. Gower to him.
“I thought perhaps you would come—I have a little breakfast ready in my rooms—the train does not go till eight.” He spoke, for the first time we have heard him, with some shadow of embarrassment. “I thought it would be less public,” he explained.
“As you like,” said Flossie, indifferently. What did it matter? Her bonnet must yet be thrown over higher wind-mills than was this.
They drove across the town in silence. Flossie, at least, had done many things in her life and not known the sickly shadow of repentance yet; what Mr. Wemyss’s thoughts were I cannot say. Justine alone, indeed, was repenting—that she had not known of this before she left the house, and acted on that knowledge. “Que de choses j’aurais pu prendre avec!” she thought.