“Less than a week, I believe.”
“Yes, yes; go on with what you were going to tell me,” he again interrupted, impatiently.
“He said madam had seen a great deal of trouble—there was some misunderstanding between herself and husband, who, by the way, was an American, which resulted in their separation after they had been married only a year. But she appears like a very lovely woman to me,” Editha replied, with a dreary look, as she remembered how she had been drawn toward the beautiful stranger.
Mr. Dalton watched her keenly out of the corners of his eyes; he was exceedingly moved and nervous about something; the corners of his mouth twitched convulsively, while he kept clasping and unclasping his hands in an excited way.
He paced the floor in silence for a few moments, then abruptly left the room.
Half an hour after he returned, and, while pretending to look over the newspaper, said:
“Editha, I’ve about concluded that I’d like a look at Saratoga; it is just the height of the season now; everything will be lovely, and Newport is getting a little tame.”
“Tame, papa! Why, I thought there was no place like Newport to you!” she exclaimed, in surprise.
“I know; Newport is a sort of summer home to me, and, of course, there is no place like home; but, if you do not mind, I’d like a change for a little while.”
“Cannot you go without me? I am very comfortable here,” Editha asked, with a sigh.