His handsome face looked thin and pale, as if he had been paying well for his moments of forgetfulness.
“Yes,” continued the doctor, with an insistence which seemed to Mrs. Simmons to be petty malice. “You were the success of the evening. Mrs. Bellflower ought to thank you for your parlor tricks.”
“Oh! damn,” commented the harassed man, looking miserably toward his wife.
She turned suddenly to the two men.
“We have had enough of last night, haven’t we?”
“So you’re off again?” the doctor persisted, seeking a new topic.
“Yes, yes, long trip. God knows when I shall get back.” This last he muttered to himself. Vessinger did not hear it, but Mrs. Simmons looked quickly at her husband. He hung his head.
“You—you are going away?” she asked in a low voice, forgetting the other man’s presence. “To leave me? Going to-night?”
“Why, those Jews telegraphed me—last night—got it this morning—must be in Chicago to meet them.”
He turned to enter the house. Mrs. Simmons followed him without regarding Vessinger.