Madam Sapphira by Edgar Saltus

Mrs. Carol's return was unheralded. One evening after a dinner at the Downtown Club. Nevius found her entrancing as an angel, but far better garbed, outstretched in the drawing room. From beneath the hem of the skirt the gold clockwork of a stocking glistened, the blue eyes that met his own were languid and sultry, and as he bent over to kiss her there rose to greet him the fresh odors of iris and of health.

"There, don't muss me up."

Unabashed Nevius drew a chair to where she lay, and taking her hand held it in his own.

"I can never tell you how glad I am. And I have wanted you so. You enjoyed yourself, I hope. Tell me all about it. Are you glad to be back?"

Mrs. Nevius withdrew the hand he held, and with two fingers patted a yawn.

"Of course I am glad to be back. Carol, do be careful," she admonished, for he had bent toward her again. "There's someone there. Of course I am glad to be back. I hate living in a trunk. What is it, Rebecca?"

The servant had entered; a note on a tray.

"A letter for you, mem. And there's an answer, mem."

Nevius moved his chair. His wife stood up and went forward to a lamp. There she turned.

"You are not going out, are you?"

And as Nevius shook his head, she made a motion to the servant.

"I will ring."

The woman left the room, and Mrs. Nevius, seating herself at the escritoire, busied herself with pen and paper.

"Whom is it from, Hilda?"

The question must have entangled her thoughts. She took the sheet on which she was writing, tore it up and tossed it aside.

"How can I write if you keep talking to me? " she asked almost piteously. "It's from Frances."

Frances was her sister, Mrs. Montrion, and as Nevius gathered up the Post and tried to lose himself in the advertisements, the name evoked a series of incidents that were not at all to his taste. There was the liaison with a dyspeptic boor, which, however, had interested him remotely, if at all, until Mrs. Montrion took it into her head to have herself and the cavaliere servente chaperoned by Hilda during a trip abroad. At that he had rebelled, and his rebellion had not been lessened on learning the object, which was to enable the Snaiths, during Mrs. Montrion's absence, to secure evidence against that lady's husband, whereby she might obtain a divorce and marry her lover. But the plot had fallen through. Montrion was not a man to be trifled with, and his wife grew timorous of results. Then, too, the cavaliere servente after the fashion of his kind, had bestowed his services elsewhere. The subject was not agreeable, and to dismiss it Nevius tried to lose himself in the columns of the Post. Before he succeeded, the answer was written, dispatched as well, and Hilda returned to the sofa.

Nevius threw the paper aside. "If you are glad to be back," he began with a bad attempt at banter, "at least you are not enthusiastic."

"But what do you expect? Here I am tired out, and besides after what you wrote I thought you would be on your way to Chicago."

"Yes, I remember. But I found it was not necessary and I am glad now it was not. I only wish you had wired. If I dined down town it was only because it is less appalling than the house when you are gone."