Nothing can better express the difference between Cecil and Blanche, than these two thoughts:—
"He is greatly amused!"
"What excuse shall I make?"
The confidence and love of the one is not more distinctly indicated by the first, than the weakness of the other is by the second.
No excuse was needed. When he arrived home, instead of reproaches, silent or expressed, he was met with kisses and joyous questions. All she seemed curious about was, how he had been amused. For herself, she had passed the time pleasantly enough. Her work and her novel had amused her. Oh, he wasn't to think himself of such consequence: existence was not insupportable without him—for a few hours!
Cecil took both her hands in his, and, pressing his lips upon her lovely eyes, felt deeply, inexpressibly, what a treasure he had got; but he said nothing; nor was it necessary to say it. She understood him.
Cecil was careful not to whisper a word of Hester's equivocal position to Blanche, who imagined Miss Mason to be some worthy old maid.
On the following Wednesday, Cecil again went to Hester's, and again spent a pleasant evening. He there met some painters, whom he was desirous to know. This gave a colouring of business to his visits—a pretext to himself, for Blanche needed none.
The more Hester saw of Cecil, the more he engaged her fancy, and, at last, her affections. Of this he was wholly unconscious. His own love for his wife was an amulet against all Hester's coquetries. But although no harm as yet had come to his affections, through this acquaintance with Hester, who could say that it would long continue thus? Cecil must discover her affection in time, and then...
Yet into this peril did Blanche innocently urge him. She knew he was amused there; she knew he there extended his acquaintance among artists; and she was happy that he should take the relaxation of one evening in the week.