“Dorothy!” said Miss Munroe, reproachfully. Miss Munroe often wondered where the children learned their naughty words. They seemed to absorb them from the air. Sometimes she was afraid their parents would think they had learned them from her.
“Papa came up before he went out,” said Jack. “He says he’s going to buy me a sword.”
“Papa is always buying things for Jack!” Dorothy, with a little encouragement, would soon have burst into tears. Helen saw that the child was nervous from her morning in the house.
“Take them out as soon as they have finished eating,” she said to Miss Munroe.
As Helen descended the stairs she met Fanny and Guy just about to start out on their wheels. “I’ve telephoned Mrs. Simpson, and she’s going. She wants us to lunch with her. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Fanny asked, solicitously, eager to seem important. “If you do, I’ll stay.”
Helen shook her head. “No, your uncle won’t be here, and I’ll lunch late. So go and have a good time.”
On the table of the library Helen found a pile of New York and Washington morning papers. She glanced at them to see what they had to say about the ball. Some of the New York papers made brief reference to it; one, the most sensational, published a long account. The Washington papers gave it considerable space. Just as she was turning a page of the New York Chronicle, Helen caught her husband’s name in one of the editorial columns. She turned back and read the paragraph:
“Last night in Washington Congressman Douglas Briggs, of New York, gave a ball to celebrate the opening of his new house. It is said that the house alone cost twenty-five thousand dollars. It is furnished in a style that only a rich man could afford. Six years ago Congressman Briggs went to Washington without a dollar, to devote himself to political affairs, practically abandoning his growing law-practice. He has apparently found politics profitable. Funny world!”
Helen read the paragraph rapidly; then she read it more slowly. On finishing, she sat motionless for a few moments. Finally, she placed the paper carefully on the top of the pile. She rose and walked to the window. She heard Miss Munroe come downstairs with the children. She had an impulse to go out into the hall and bid them good-bye, but she checked it; she wished to speak to no one for a few moments.
She went back to the table and read the paragraph again. Then she placed the paper in the centre of the pile. She would not allow herself to think why she did that. She heard a servant pass through the hall, and she called that she would have luncheon served in an hour. During the interval she busied herself feverishly, but she could not keep from thinking about that paragraph. Of course, Douglas would see it. Perhaps he had seen it already. She remembered now that Guy usually clipped from the papers all references to her husband. He had left the papers on the table to look them over on his return with Fanny. The clippings he pasted in the big black scrapbooks that Douglas kept on one of the lower shelves, under his law-books. She was tempted to look through these scrapbooks now to see if they contained any references like the one she had just read. But she felt ashamed.