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Page 18
"If she was a ghost," was her final expression on the subject, "she
could'nt go peramberlating this house more than she does. It seems
as if she could'nt keep still a minute. Upstairs and down, upstairs
and down, till we're most wild. And so white as she is and so
trembling! Why her hands shake so all the time she never dares lift a
dish off the table. And then the way she hangs about Mr. Blake's door
when he's at home! She never goes in, that's the oddest part of it,
but walks up and down before it, wringing her hands and talking to
herself just like a mad woman. Why, I have seen her almost put her
hand on the knob twice in an afternoon perhaps, then draw back as if
she was afraid it would burn her; and if by any chance the door
opened and Mr. Blake came out, you ought to have seen how she run.
What it all means I don't know, but I have my imaginings, and if she
is'nt crazy, why--" etc., etc.
In face of facts like these I felt it would be pure insanity to
despair. Let there be but a mystery, though it involved a man of the
position of Mr. Blake and I was safe. My only apprehension had been
that the whole affair would dissolve itself into an ordinary
elopement or some such common-place matter.
Where, therefore, a few minutes later, Fanny announced that Mr. Blake
had ordered a carriage to take him to the Charity Ball that evening,
I determined to follow him and learn if possible what change had
taken place in himself or his circumstances, to lead him into such an
innovation upon his usual habits. Though the hour was late I had but
little difficulty in carrying out my plan, arriving at the Academy
something less than an hour after the opening dance.
The crowd was great and I circulated the floor three times before I
came upon him. When I did, I own I was slightly disappointed; for
instead of finding him as I anticipated, the centre of an admiring
circle of ladies and gentlemen, I espied him withdrawn into a corner
with a bland old politician of the Fifteenth Ward, discussing, as I
presently overheard, the merits and demerits of a certain Smith who at
that time was making some disturbance in the party.
"If that is all he has come for," thought I, "I had better have stayed
at home and made love to the pretty Fanny." And somewhat chagrined,
I took up my stand near by, and began scrutinizing the ladies.
Suddenly I felt my heart stand still, the noise of voices ceasing the
same instant behind me. A lady was passing on the arm of a
foreign-looking gentleman, whom it did not require a second glance to
identify with the subject of the portrait in Mr. Blake's house. Older
by some few years than when her picture was painted, her beauty had
assumed a certain defiant expression that sufficiently betrayed the
fact that the years had not been so wholly happy as she had probably
anticipated when she jilted handsome Holman Blake for the old French
Count. At all events so I interpreted the look of latent scorn that
burned in her dark eyes, as she slowly turned her richly bejeweled
head towards the corner where that gentleman stood, and meeting his
eyes no doubt, bowed with a sudden loss of self-possession that not
all the haughty carriage of her noble form, held doubly erect for the
next few moments, could quite conceal or make forgotten.
"She still loves him," I inwardly commented and turned to see if the
surprise had awakened any expression on his uncommunicative
countenance.
Evidently not, for the tough old politician of the Fifteenth Ward was
laughing, at one of his own jokes probably, and looking up in the
face of Mr. Blake, whose back was turned to me, in a way that
entirely precluded all thought of any tragic expression in that
quarter. Somewhat disgusted, I withdrew and followed the lady.
I could not get very near. By this time the presence of a live
countess in the assembly had become known, and I found her surrounded
by a swarm of half-fledged youths. But I cared little for this; all I
wanted to know was whether Mr. Blake would approach her or not during
the evening. Tediously the moments passed; but a detective on duty,
or on fancied duty, succumbs to no weariness. I had a woman before me
worth studying and the time could not be thrown away. I learned to
know her beauty; the poise of her head, the flush of her cheek, the
curl of her lip, the glance--yes, the glance of her eye, though that
was more difficult to understand, for she had a way of drooping her
lids at times that, while exceedingly effective upon the poor wretch
toward whom she might be directing that half-veiled shaft of light,
was anything but conducive to my purposes.
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