“I am”——pleased, he was going to say but changed it to—“glad to meet Imelda’s sister”—emphasizing the “sister.” “I hope we may be friends.”
“Thank you.” Scarcely above a whisper, and with a fluttering breath, the words dropped from the slightly trembling lips, and one felt, rather than heard, the depths of feeling contained in the two little words. In that moment Cora knew that she had found another friend. His words were no idle phrase. Imelda also understood, and her heart gave a great bound. Did it not mean much? She took a step backward,—she wanted the two to become better acquainted. Would they have anything to say to each other? A little while she would leave them together. Turning to the side of Alice who was carelessly standing just a little beyond, plucking the scarlet blossoms of a geranium to pieces, while her glance traveled a little nervously to the man who was still standing by the open window. What did it all mean?
For weeks now Mr. Westcot had studiously avoided meeting his wife. His meals were either taken late or away from home, and the drawing room had not once known his presence in all that time. Was the old life about to be taken up again? The white teeth sank into the red lips and a tremor seized and shook her form. She raised her hand in search of a support. Imelda saw her reel, and with a quick movement caught her in her arms. But another had watched this little by-play, and a few strides brought Lawrence Westcot to the side of the woman he called his wife. Pouring a little ice water from the pitcher that was standing near by he held it to her lips.
“Drink,” he said. Quietly obeying she drank a few swallows. Pushing a large easy chair forward in such position as would shield her face from the glaring light of the chandelier, he would have led her to it, but she evaded his hand and managed to reach it unaided. Bending over her he inquired the cause of her sudden indisposition. Nervously she answered:
“Nothing. It is nothing. I will be better in a moment. The coming home of the girls must have excited me. I thought I was stronger than I am.” Was it an anxious look he bent upon her? He did not speak, however, and quietly withdrew.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Cora and Norman had not seen any of this by-play. He had taken her by the hand and led her to a tete-a-tete, and seating himself by her side soon had drawn her into conversation. A group of exotic plants was, by this movement, placed between themselves and the others, and as scarce a word had been spoken they were in ignorance of what had transpired. Lawrence Westcot now raised his eyes to Imelda who had stood during the scene without speaking. She read in that glance a request which he presently put into words.
“Will you favor me with a few moments of your presence?”
Once before he had asked of her that question, the memory of which sent the rich blood in hot waves over her neck and brow. What did it mean? The words she had uttered when in righteous indignation she had swept from his presence now came back to her:
“And until such time, do not dare to speak to me!”