Lady Winsleigh regarded her fixedly. How radiantly lovely the young wife looked!--her cheeks had never been more delicately rosy, or her eyes more brilliant. The dark fur cloak she wore with its rich sable trimmings, and the little black velvet toque that rested on her fair curls, set off the beauty of her clear skin to perfection, and her rival, who stood gazing at her with such close scrutiny, envied her more than ever as she was once again reluctantly forced to admit to herself the matchless loveliness of the innocent creature whose happiness she now sought to destroy.
"Do I look grave, Thelma?" she said with a slight smile. "Well, perhaps I've a reason for my gravity. And so your husband is away?"
"Yes. He went quite early this morning,--a telegram summoned him and he was obliged to go." Here she drew up a chair to the fire, and began to loosen her wraps. "Sit down, Clara! I will ring for tea."
"No, don't ring," said Lady Winsleigh. "Not yet! I want to talk to you privately." She sank languidly on a velvet lounge and looked Thelma straight in the eyes.
"Dear Thelma," she continued in a sweetly tremulous, compassionate voice. "Can you bear to hear something very painful and shocking, something that I'm afraid will grieve you very much?"
The color fled from the girl's fair face--her eyes grew startled.
"What do you mean, Clara? Is it anything about--about Philip?"
Lady Winsleigh bent her head in assent, but remained silent.
"If," continued Thelma, with a little return of the rosy hue to her cheeks. "If it is something else about that--that person at the theatre, Clara, I would rather not hear it! I think I have been wrong in listening to any such stories--it is so seldom that gossip of any kind is true. It is not a wife's duty to receive scandals about her husband. And suppose he does see Miss Vere, how do I know that it may not be on business for some friend of his?--because I do know that on that night when he went behind the scenes at the Brilliant, he said it was on business. Mr. Lovelace used often to go and see Miss Mary Anderson, all to persuade her to take a play written by a friend of his--and Philip, who is always kind-hearted, may perhaps be doing something of the same sort. I feel I have been wicked to have even a small doubt of my husband's love,--so, Clara, do not let us talk any more on a subject which only displeases me."