Thus chattering in a friendly way Alice was endeavoring to array Cora in a pretty gown of soft, clinging, warm-hued material, but the fussy little woman was far too excited to be of any real use, and not until Imelda appeared, already dressed, was her toilet completed. With deft and ready fingers Imelda lent the needed assistance, then selecting some of the bright-hued flowers from a vase filled with the various blooms of mid-summer, and which was standing upon a small table near one of the open windows, she twined them in the dark chestnut coils, then fastening a bunch at the snowy throat and standing at a distance she measured her sister with a critical and admiring look.
“Now look at yourself. Do you think you would please a fastidious eye?” The vision that met her gaze as she turned to the mirror was a mixture of girlish sweetness and of serious womanly dignity. Returning health and strength were filling the fair form with a roundness and tingeing the serious, half-sad face with exquisite color. Cora gave more than a passing glance at the reflected full-length image, and while she looked the eyes of both fair women in attendance were watching her face, and presently they saw the lips quiver, the eyelids droop and the crystal drops force their way from under them and cling like liquid pearls to the dark lashes. Imelda’s face bent over her sister’s till it rested on the dark-crowned head. Instinctively she felt what the thoughts were that caused the tears to gather, but she had not one word to say. Cora’s well hand went up to Imelda’s face and her lips whispered,
“He whom my appearance would please is not here; so what does it matter?”
Imelda shook her head and forced a smile to her lips.
“Ah, but, little sister, it does matter. Don’t you know that you are to meet someone else tonight that I wish so much to be pleased!” Playfully smiling she lifted the drooping face and looked into the tear-wet eyes. The questioning look in them suddenly gave way to one of understanding.
“I had forgotten that I was of some importance tonight. Yes, you are right. It does matter, and I do want to please.”
Dinner was now announced and the trio descended to the dining room. Here Lawrence Westcot was awaiting them. Imelda had not seen him since the unpleasant meeting with Frank in the garden, and unexpectedly finding herself opposite the dark-eyed passionate man threatened momentarily to disconcert her. A flush mounted to her brow, then receded, leaving it marble white. But quickly regaining her self-possession she saw that no one had noticed anything amiss. Mr. Westcot came forward and in a few well chosen words expressed his pleasure at her return: next he acknowledged the introduction to Cora, for a moment closely studying her face. The dinner came off rather quietly to say nothing of the feeling of restraint felt by all. Alice seemed to have lost the fear that for so long had been a drawback to her full recovery, at least it was not now so apparent, but there was no confidence as yet established between herself and Mr. Westcot. They were more like strangers who found the task of getting acquainted a tedious and irksome one. Imelda, with the consciousness that the memories of the past brought her, felt great constraint, and it is not to be wondered at that Cora felt the influence thus brought to bear upon her, and felt quite uncomfortable. The ladies spoke in monosyllables, and although the efforts of Lawrence Westcot to produce something like a flow of conversation, to bring a feeling of harmony to the little company, were almost incessant they fell decidedly flat. So when the meal was brought to a close the feelings that were retained were anything but pleasant. Lawrence made his excuses almost instantly and withdrew, thus clearing the field and leaving the ladies to themselves. They were not slow in taking advantage of the fact that they were alone, and as the husband paced the veranda the voices of the chatting and laughing women came very clearly to his hearing. A bitter smile curved his lips. He felt that he was no longer welcome in his own home. Yet was any one to blame but himself? But what had he done, he asked himself, other than men were wont to do? Nothing! he felt sure. But an inward voice whispered,
“These women are not like other women. You have not understood them, but have taken it for granted that they were the same. When too late you recognized the fact, and all your efforts to set yourself right in your own home have been vain. Yet have these efforts been all they should have been? Have you in reality done all that could be done?”
He leaned against a pillar and gazed into the darkening shadows of the coming night while thought chased thought. Yes! he would make one more effort, for was not the life he was leading in his palatial home fast becoming unbearable? While he was dreaming with open eyes a queenly head appeared before him, crowned with a glorious wealth of dark hair. Passionately dark eyes emitted flashes of fire, scornful in their scintillations.
Passing his hand over his eyes with an impatient movement he heaved a weary sigh and in a tone that was almost a moan the words broke from his lips, “Why, O why is this all!”