Richard had had his chance with Ethelyn and lost it. But he did not know
it, or guess how sorry and disappointed she was when at last she left
him and retired to her sleeping-room. There was a window open in the
parlor, and as the wind was rising with a sound of rain, Richard went to
close it ere following his wife. The window was near to the piano and as
he shut it something rattled at his feet. It was the crumpled letter,
which Ethelyn had accidentally drawn from her dress pocket with the
handkerchief she held in her hand when she sat down by Richard. He knew
it was that letter, and his first thought was to carry it to Ethelyn;
then, as he remembered her offer to read it to him, he said, "Surely
there can be no harm in reading it for myself. A man has a right to know
what is in a letter to his wife."
Thus reasoning, he sat down by the side light as far away from the
bedroom door as possible and commenced Mrs. Dr. Van Buren's letter. They
were stopping at the United States, and there was nothing particular at
first, except her usual remarks of the people and what they wore; but on
the third page Richard's eye caught Frank's name, and skipping all else,
leaped eagerly forward to what the writer was saying of her son. His
conduct evidently did not please his mother; neither did the conduct of
Nettie, who was too insipid for anything, the lady wrote, adding that
she was not half so bright and pretty as when she was first married, but
had the headache and kept her own room most of the time, and was looking
so faded and worn that Frank was really ashamed of her.
"You know how he likes brilliant, sparkling girls," she wrote, "and of
course he has no patience with Nettie's fancied ailments. I can't say
that I altogether sympathize with her myself; and, dear Ethie, I must
acknowledge that it has more than once occurred to me that I did very
wrong to meddle with Frank's first love affair. He would be far happier
now if it had been suffered to go on, for I suspect he has never
entirely gotten over it; but it is too late now for regrets. Nettie is
his wife, and he must make the best of it."
Then followed what seemed the secret of the Van Buren discomfort. The
bank in which most of Nettie's fortune was deposited had failed, leaving
her with only the scanty income of five hundred dollars a year, a sum
not sufficient to buy clothes, Mrs. Van Buren said. But Richard did not
notice this--his mind was only intent upon Frank's first love affair,
which ought to have gone on. He did not ask himself whether, in case it
had gone on, Ethelyn would have been there, so near to him that her soft
breathing came distinctly to his ear. He knew she would not; there had
been something between her and Frank Van Buren, he was convinced beyond
a doubt, and the fiercest pang he had ever known was that which came to
him when he sat with Mrs. Dr. Van Buren's letter in his hand, wondering
why Ethie had withheld the knowledge of it from him, and if she had
outlived the love which her aunt regretted as having come to naught.
Then, as the more generous part of his nature began to seek excuses for
her, he asked himself why she offered to read the letter if she had
really been concerned in Frank's first love affair, and hope whispered
that possibly she was not the heroine of that romance. There was comfort
in that thought: and Richard would have been comforted if jealousy had
not suggested how easy it was for her to skip the part relating to
Nettie and Frank, and thus leave him as much in the dark as ever. Yes,
that was undoubtedly her intention. While seeming to be so open and
honest, she would have deceived him all the more. This was what Richard
decided, and his heart grew very hard against the young wife, who looked
so innocent and pretty in her quiet sleep, when at last he sought his
pillow and lay down by her side.