It was with more than the usual sinking of heart that Jasper let
himself that evening into the beautiful house which Betty and he
called their home. Joan's too expressive look had stung the old
soreness of his disillusionment. He knew that the house was empty of
welcome. He took off his hat and coat dejectedly. There were footsteps
of his man who came from the far end of the hall.
While he stood waiting, Jasper noticed the absence of a familiar
fragrance. For the first time in years Betty had forgotten to order
flowers. The red roses which Jasper always caressed with a long,
appreciative finger as he went by the table in the hall, were missing.
Their absence gave him a faint sensation of alarm.
"Mr. Kane, Mrs. Morena's brother, has called to see you, sir. He is
waiting."
Jasper's eyebrows rose. "To see me? Is he with Mrs. Morena now?"
"No, sir. Mrs. Morena went out this morning and has not yet returned.
Mr. Kane has been here since five o'clock, sir."
"Very well."
It was a mechanical speech of dismissal. The footman went off. Jasper
stood tapping his chin with his finger. Woodward Kane come to see him
during Betty's absence! Woodward had not spoken more than three or four
icy words of necessity to him since the marriage. After a stiff,
ungracious fashion this brother had befriended Betty, but to his Jewish
brother-in-law he had shown only a slightly disguised distaste. The Jew
was well used to such a manner. He treated it with light bitterness,
but he did not love to receive the users of it in his own house. It was
with heightened color and bent brows that he pushed apart the long,
crimson hangings and came into the immense drawing-room.
It was softly lighted and pleasantly warmed. A fire burned. The tall,
fair visitor rose from a seat near the blaze and turned all in one
rigid piece toward his advancing host. Jasper was perfectly conscious
that his own gesture and speech of greeting were too eager, too
ingratiating, that they had a touch of servility. He hated them
himself, but they were inherited with his blood, as instinctive as the
wagging of a dog's tail. They were met by a precise bow, no smile, no
taking of his outstretched hand.
Jasper drew himself up at once, put the slighted hand on the back of a
tall, crimson-damask chair, and looked his stateliest and most
handsome self.
"Betty hasn't come in yet," he said. "You've been waiting for her?"