"I wish I might, but I have these lawyers on my hands—must take them to the club for luncheon. Sorry I shall be kept here until late in the afternoon. I will put you in a cab." And he led the way to the elevator. As always he was kind and considerate. But in his equable manner was there also some touch of coldness, of aloofness from this wife, who had taken this curious opportunity to come into his affairs?
"Thank you," she faltered, as he looked down the street for a cab. "Couldn't I go somewhere about here for luncheon and come back afterwards to the court-room? I should like to wait for you."
"Why, if you want to," he replied, looking at her with surprise. And as if divining a reason for her agitation, he said: "You mustn't mind what the papers say. It won't amount to anything, either way it goes."
"I think I'll stay," she said hurriedly.
"Very well. I will call Bliss to take you to a hotel."
He beckoned to the waiting young man, and while Mr. Bliss was finding a cab, Lane said to his wife:—
"You are looking very well. The country has done you good?"
"Yes! I am very well,—all well!" She tried to smile buoyantly. "I don't expect ever to be ill again."
He received this as a man accustomed to the vagaries of woman's health, and said, "That's good!"
Then he put her into the cab, gave some instructions to the young man, and raised his hat. His manner was perfect to her, and yet Isabelle went to her luncheon with the bubbling Mr. Bliss sad at heart. She was such an outsider, such a stranger to her husband's inner self! That it was to be expected, her own fault, the result of the misspent years of married life made it none the easier to bear….