But we will leave Lawrence Westcot for the present and return to Imelda. As nothing happened during the hours of the day that would be of interest to us we pass them over until the shades of evening brought her handsome lover to her side. She had donned a soft white cashmere. No ornament of any kind, only a snowy rosebud nestling amidst the dusky coils of hair. The flushed cheek and the happy light in the dark eyes made a picture to gladden the heart of any lover. She was sitting in a reclining position in a large arm chair, shading her eyes from the bright light of the chandelier, with a fan artistically finished with black lace, sparkling with diamond dust, a present of the fair Alice, who was sitting at the piano, softly playing an accompaniment to a sad little air that she was singing. A mass of pink gauze enveloped Alice’s slender form like a cloud, from which the shoulders rose and gleamed like marble. A beautiful picture, thought Norman, as he stood in the open doorway.
But another had also been feasting his eyes upon the fair form. From the low French window which led to the balcony without, another pair of eyes were gazing upon Imelda’s fresh young beauty. Lawrence Westcot was standing there in the shadow of the night. Not a glance did he have just then for the little woman who was his wife and who was softly singing to herself. His whole being was thrilled by that other who now glanced toward the door. The look which beamed from her face at that moment was a revelation to him and the look on Norman’s face corroborated it. Muttering a curse his teeth sank deep into his lip. Quickly he stepped further into the darkness and was lost in the winding walks of the beautiful garden.
Intuitively Norman knew, when his eyes rested on Imelda’s figure, that she had dressed for him. Never had she appeared anything but beautiful to him, but tonight she seemed to surpass herself. He had never seen her in anything but somber black, or at best in a soft, unassuming gray gown; so that the effect of the pure white of her attire this evening was a revelation. After greeting the hostess he seated himself at the side of his loved one. Alice meanwhile, continuing her singing, evidently trying in vain to hide the tears in her voice. But her fear was needless. The world for these two did not extend to where she was sitting. They were wholly absorbed in each other.
Finding herself so utterly overlooked, Alice rose from her seat and gliding to the open window soon found herself gazing up into the starlit heavens. What was it that so rebelliously stirred her inmost soul? Had the two in the parlor wronged her in any way? Were not both dearly loved friends, and was it not her desire that both should be happy? Slipping down from the balcony into the walk below which was flanked on either side with blooming plants, Alice fled down, down until the splashing of a fountain greeted her ear, beside which she now sank. Dipping her hand into the cool water she let it play over the white fingers. Her bosom heaved and in a little while the crystal drops from her eyes mingled with the sparkling waters of the fountain. She was fighting out a battle, here under the starlit heavens. How dare she own even to herself what it was that moved her so? Was it the poisoned arrows of Imelda’s views that had sunk deep into her soul?
“No, no!” was the answer she made to this question; “Be truthful. When you acknowledge so much, go farther and acknowledge still more. Remember this man was your friend long ere Imelda came to be a pleasant companion in your house; long ere you ever heard one word of the girl’s beautiful doctrine. His voice was music, his smile heaven to you.
“But oh, I did not, could not know,” continued the unhappy woman to herself. “Only when she came and told me of what she had won, did my heart awake and realize what its cravings are; what all this sunshine in my life means. Now all will be darkness, utter darkness!” and as if the climax had now been reached the white hand covered the quivering face, and the pearly drops trickled from between her fingers.
After awhile the storm in the heaving bosom was somewhat allayed; her breathing became more regular, the sobs ceased and removing her hands she was about to lave the tear-stained face in the cool water when she became aware of the near presence of a man, whom she now saw was leaning against a large fir tree and watching her every movement.
The suddenness of her discovery almost caused Alice to scream. Although the man had risen she could not for the moment decide who he might be, as he was standing in the shadows, but seeing that he was discovered he stepped out into the full light and—with a gasp Alice recognized her husband. How long had he been standing there, how long had he been watching her? A somewhat defiant air settled upon her countenance as without a word she proceeded to lave her face, as she had intended doing.
“Rather a queer place for making your toilet, is it not?” he queried. “I believe there could have been more suitable places found in your home.”
Alice would rather not have answered, but felt it was not good policy to pass his words over unnoticed.