“Good night,” she answered. Husband and wife parted in the hall. Clara went very slowly up the broad flight of stairs. When she reached the first landing she turned and looked back at Tarbot, he on his part looking up at her. The look she gave him back in return was full of an undefined and curious expression. It puzzled the man, and he thought it over a good bit as he sat in his study.
“If I did not know that it was quite impossible,” he said to himself, “I should say that my wife, the woman to whom I have given my name, for whom I have ruined myself, holds some secret against me. What did she mean when she spoke of having the ace of trumps in her hand? If Clara turns against me I shall be lost. I hate her, but I must keep friendly with her, that’s evident. She would be faithful to me—poor soul!—if she thought I had the least vestige of love for her. Can I feign what she wants and so get that ace of trumps from her? Shall I try?”
He sat with his head buried in his hands for some time, but as the night advanced he paced the room restlessly.
Clara also scarcely slept that night. Early in the morning she rose and went to her husband. He was still in his study.
Clara was dressed with care, and notwithstanding her sleepless night looked trim and fresh. As usual, she wore black; soft real lace encircled her thin white throat, and her head, with its crown of red hair, looked something like a tropical flower. She was a graceful woman, and the dress she now wore gave her a special charm.
To Tarbot, who had been experimenting, analyzing, thinking hard, who was almost worn out in consequence, she suddenly appeared as almost a vision of beauty.
He looked up as she entered, carrying a little tray. It contained tea and toast. With a flash of quick thought he remembered afresh her expression of the night before—that she held the ace of trumps in her hand. He knew that if he could give her any affection she would be his forever. At that moment, with this thought in his head, she was almost attractive to him.
“You should not stay up all night,” she said. “I have brought you this. Sit down and let me pour you out a cup of tea.”
He sank into the nearest chair. She poured out the tea, putting in the amount of sugar and cream that he liked. She brought the fragrant cup to his side, and buttering a piece of toast, put it on a plate and laid it on a little table near by. As he lifted the cup to his lips his eyes fixed themselves on her face.
“You are an extraordinary woman,” he began. “When I think of you as——”