"I shall watch! I shall see!" exclaimed Jessica, leaving her desk and walking restlessly up and down the floor. "Do not fear but that I should know how to revenge myself upon him as well as her. I have rather suspected him. He has been so careful of all that he has said to me since his return, so careful of who should see him in our box. He is not too good to be there, but he doesn't want to be seen. I heard him say to her upon the night of their first meeting, that it would break his heart to see his sister play a game of poker."
"He said that?"
"He did! But I will teach him that he is playing with an edged tool this time. I shall prove to him that I know how to take a revenge, and it shall be a bitter one, if he dares to do this thing. Write your letter to Meriaz. I am anxious to see this to the end."
[CHAPTER IX.]
"Aïda" was in progress at the Metropolitan, and Jessica never lost a night at the opera. It was the first time in all her life that enough money had found its way into her exchequer to purchase a season's box, and she was making the very most of it that lay in her power.
Very many persons present had observed that no woman ever found her way into that box, and that most of the men concealed themselves in the rear, or even contented themselves with a visit to the anteroom. But Jessica never troubled her head about that. She didn't like women, didn't want women, and their absence affected her not at all.
Carlita was at home, as usual, beautiful as a dream in her soft chiffon gown, the exquisite dark hair rippling from her forehead in great waves that no hair-dresser's art could ever imitate.
She was standing before a huge soft-coal fire, looking down into it, with a faint smile curving the corners of her mouth, as she waited for Olney Winthrop—a smile which deepened as she heard the chime of the door-bell.