Madam Sapphira by Edgar Saltus

Meanwhile nothing further had been said about Mrs. Manhattan's box. Mrs. Carol may have abandoned the project, and as for Nevius, the matter had passed from his mind. He had other things to think of. One evening he returned to the house later than usual; he was tired and looked cross. On entering the drawing room he found his wife already there. At the moment he said nothing, contenting himself with staring at her. Her gown was an artful combination of silk and tulle, colorless yet silvery, and in it, with a large fan and a low bodice, very delightful she was to behold. About her were the incendiary and not altogether definable emanations which the well sent-out of her sex not infrequently exhale, but of which she had made a study. There are women, few indeed, but there are women who merely in raising their arms define the reason of love, and Mrs. Nevius was one of them. The costume, however, and its attendant charms were not, Nevius understood, intended solely for his own delectation. A festival of some kind was imminent.

"Aren't you going to dress?"

As Mrs. Nevius spoke, the tips of her lips just moving, her chin a trifle advanced, her eyebrows arched, the blue splendors of her eyes dilating, she might have sat for Spring pouting at Winter.

With the sans-gêne of a married man, Nevius dropped in a chair.

"Anyone would think I had shot you," she added, after a pause which she made populous with interrogations.

Nevius straightened himself.

"How long will it take you to pack?"

"Two months."

"Hilda! do be serious."

"Two months I tell you. Not a minute less. But what has happened? I give you my word you look as though you had been studying the extradition treaty. What's gone wrong?"

"I go to Paris tomorrow and I want you to go too."

To this Mrs. Nevius made no reply unless the click of a fan may be so accounted.

"The Board of the Interocean Canal met today and they want me to go. In fact I have to. The stockholders, in spite of De Lesseps, are all there, and the Board needs more money. How much God only knows, and when I say God only I exaggerate -- "

"Don't be coarse," Mrs. Carol interjected, but she spoke mechanically, her thoughts afar.

"I have the ticket, a cabine de luxe; it is big enough for three. Rebecca could get such things as you need in shape in no time. And it would be so sweet," he added.

This conclusion was allowed to pass unnoticed. With a gesture which was habitual to Mrs. Carol when called upon to think quickly, she raised a hand to her forehead. On one finger a great jewel glistened, but not more so than the fingertip. When she lowered it her face was almost apathetic.

"It would be so sweet of you, Hilda."

Mrs. Nevius dropped her fan, patted a fold of the skirt, and, as though reflecting still, crossed to where he sat.

He was on his feet at once.

"I knew you would! " he cried, and caught her to him.