They breakfasted alone in the great oak dining-room, and each felt the restraint which they could illy conceal.
As she took her place at the table she was perfectly calm and self-possessed, but the mask of smiles she had worn before his guests fell from her face. She did not attempt any conversation with him, but with a quick, flashing smile she answered when she was spoken to.
"It seems to take the servants exceptionally long to serve breakfast," he said, impatiently; adding: "Will you permit me to glance over the morning paper? I am interested in this column on stocks."
She bowed her head gracefully, and watched him, as he read in silence. There came over her face an air of sadness painful to see in one so young.
To Ida the departure of the company was a great relief. Indeed, she longed for solitude, and thought that if they did not go soon she could not keep up much longer.
She had wanted to go away long ago; but she had remained there, and now the attraction was so great that she would not break away even if she could. Her love for her husband was like a magnet, strong as her very life-blood, a part of every heart-beat.
For long hours she would muse over her strange position.
It was an uncommon fate—young, with life all before her, she longed for its blessings. It was pitiful for her to know that the man she had learned to love cared for another, that she was no more to her husband than she would be to a brother.
How sad it was that she should long for the love of her husband as she had never longed for anything else in life! It seemed so strange to live in that magnificent home, to have everything that her heart desired, to be wealthy, honored, and envied, yet to have no husband's love.
Did he still sigh for Hildegarde? Was he thinking of her when that dreamy look came into his eyes? She would give the world to know. She felt a terrible jealousy in her heart.