"Mr. Hendrickson." Yes, that was the name on her lips.
"You arrived to-day," he said, and he took a place at the other end of the tete-a-tete.
"Yes."
"From Saratoga, I believe?"
"Yes. How long have you been at Newport?"
"I arrived only this morning. You are looking very well, Mrs. Dexter."
"Am I?"
"Yes. Time lays his hands upon you lightly!"
The shadow of another's presence came between them.
"Mr. Dexter, my husband; Mr. Hendrickson, from B—," said Mrs. Dexter, with the most perfect ease of manner, presenting the two gentlemen. They had met before, as the reader knows, and had good reason for remembering each other. They touched hands, Dexter frowning, and Hendrickson slightly embarrassed. Mrs. Dexter entirely herself, smiling, talkative, and with an exterior as unruffled as a mountain lake.