Part 12 (2/2)

McSeeney. ”However, you may carry away the satisfaction that you looked absolutely heavenly at the ball last night in that charming yellow gown.

How like it is to Marion's, was that intentional?”

”That is the second time I have been asked that question, but I a.s.sure you it was quite an unexpected coincidence.”

”A coincidence which created a fortunate contrast,” replied Mrs.

McSeeney, with increased suavity. ”Fortunate for you, at least.”

”What does this extreme agreeableness mean?” Florence wondered, and for a moment she was lost for a reply. ”By the way,” continued Mrs.

McSeeney, ”what has become of that charming Mr. Grahame whom Marion brought to my house last week? I don't see him here.”

”He went back to New York to-day,” answered Florence somewhat coolly, as she wished to end the conversation.

”What a pity!” said Mrs. McSeeney, speaking in a louder tone. ”Mr.

Grahame was such a delightful man, and dear Marion Sanderson must miss him so.”

Instinctively feeling that some one else might have overheard this remark, Florence looked hurriedly behind her, and was horrified to see Roswell Sanderson and Harold Wainwright standing there. She saw the meaning of Mrs. McSeeney's action now; she had laid this trap to injure Marion in the eyes of her husband, and Roswell's expression of mingled anger and anxiety told her plainly that he had overheard. Frightened for Marion's happiness she turned to Mrs. McSeeney and said angrily: ”You have no right to connect Marion's name with Mr. Grahame's in such a manner.”

”Indeed!” Mrs. McSeeney replied with exasperating coolness. ”I think that when a woman of Marion Sanderson's prominence is indiscreet in her actions, she must expect to cause comment. I happened to see Mr. Grahame kiss Mrs. Sanderson, under the musicians' gallery, at the ball last night. I think I am justified in any conclusions I may draw.”

Florence heard a low exclamation behind her. For a moment countless thoughts rushed through her brain in jumbled confusion, then she seemed to understand it all. Mrs. McSeeney told the truth. No woman would dare make such an accusation falsely, and this explained Marion's strange talk of the afternoon. Poor Marion! was there no way to save her? With the suddenness of inspiration an idea came to her. She remembered seeing a play in which two women were mistaken for each other by the similarity of their gowns; she had also been with Duncan under the musicians'

gallery, and she knew it was too dark to distinguish faces accurately there. She turned quickly toward Roswell Sanderson, and seizing his hand drew him forward. He was about to speak but she stopped him; then, facing Mrs. McSeeney, she said defiantly: ”You have conceived a clever plan to ruin Mr. Sanderson's wife. Your motive, I think, is evident to all who know you, but, fortunately, your statement is untrue. 'Twas I who was with Mr. Grahame under the musicians' gallery.”

Mrs. McSeeney drew back astonished at this sudden statement, but she quickly recovered from her surprise and said ironically: ”Such a melodramatic sacrifice seems out of place in real life, but I suppose you are one of those heroic maidens who enjoy tarnis.h.i.+ng their own reputation to clear a friend. I admit that the darkness and the similarity of your gowns may have rendered the confusion possible, but I a.s.sure you I was not mistaken about the facts. I suppose you are prepared to admit them also?”

”I am,” said Florence deliberately.

”Well, you are ingenuous, I must say,” said Mrs. McSeeney, astonished at Florence's determined manner. ”Perhaps you will think better of your foolishness when you realize the position in which you have placed yourself before society. In the meantime I trust Mr. Sanderson accepts a statement which, considering my experience of the world, I believe extremely improbable.”

Roswell clenched his fists to suppress his anger. ”Mr. Sanderson,” he said slowly, ”believes absolutely in the fidelity of his wife, and he warns Mrs. McSeeney that she must answer to him for any future slurs upon her character.”

Mrs. McSeeney's eyes flashed as she said coolly: ”I am glad Mrs.

Sanderson enjoys so absolutely the confidence of her husband.” Then, shrugging her shoulders slightly, she turned and walked toward the door.

It was growing so late that the distant room in which this scene occurred was quite empty, and fortunately no one but Harold Wainwright had overheard the conversation. An anxious witness of the scene, he had appeared at first dumfounded by Florence's self-accusation; but he now calmly followed Mrs. McSeeney toward the door. He quickly caught up with her, and speaking so quietly that she turned about somewhat frightened, he said: ”May I speak with you a moment? I have something of importance to say.”

”Certainly,” she replied, and they pa.s.sed on into the next room.

Florence was left alone with Roswell Sanderson. The first excitement of the resolution to save Marion had pa.s.sed, and she now realized the position in which she had so suddenly placed herself, and her foremost desire now was to get away somewhere. Above all she dared not speak to Roswell. She was still holding his hand which she had grasped so earnestly in the midst of her excitement, and now she tried to release it. This action Roswell resisted, and, turning until he could see into her face, he said earnestly: ”You are a brave girl, Florence, and I thank you for it from the bottom of my heart.”

Florence lowered her eyes. ”Don't talk about it,” she said anxiously, ”and please promise not to say one word to Marion of all this. I am going away, and, if you can keep her from knowing about it, it will make me so happy.”

Roswell was silent a moment. A curious expression of sad determination, which Florence did not understand, came into his eyes.

”I promise,” he finally said, ”but you must answer me one question now that we are alone. Did you speak the truth?”

Florence trembled slightly. She had been expecting this question and felt that everything depended on her answer. She pressed his hand firmly, and, looking up into his face, said in tones which bore the resolute accent of truth: ”Roswell, I a.s.sure you that Marion has been true to you.”

”I will ask no more,” he replied, and she saw that determined expression come back again to his eyes. They heard the sound of approaching steps, and he quickly released her hand. Turning round they saw Marion approaching. ”What under heaven are you doing here?” Marion said, as she entered the room. ”Don't you know everyone has gone home, and we shall be late for dinner?”

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