The Branding Iron - Page 110/142

It was with more than the usual sinking of heart that Jasper let

himself that evening into the beautiful house which Betty and he

called their home. Joan's too expressive look had stung the old

soreness of his disillusionment. He knew that the house was empty of

welcome. He took off his hat and coat dejectedly. There were footsteps

of his man who came from the far end of the hall.

While he stood waiting, Jasper noticed the absence of a familiar

fragrance. For the first time in years Betty had forgotten to order

flowers. The red roses which Jasper always caressed with a long,

appreciative finger as he went by the table in the hall, were missing.

Their absence gave him a faint sensation of alarm.

"Mr. Kane, Mrs. Morena's brother, has called to see you, sir. He is

waiting."

Jasper's eyebrows rose. "To see me? Is he with Mrs. Morena now?"

"No, sir. Mrs. Morena went out this morning and has not yet returned.

Mr. Kane has been here since five o'clock, sir."

"Very well."

It was a mechanical speech of dismissal. The footman went off. Jasper

stood tapping his chin with his finger. Woodward Kane come to see him

during Betty's absence! Woodward had not spoken more than three or four

icy words of necessity to him since the marriage. After a stiff,

ungracious fashion this brother had befriended Betty, but to his Jewish

brother-in-law he had shown only a slightly disguised distaste. The Jew

was well used to such a manner. He treated it with light bitterness,

but he did not love to receive the users of it in his own house. It was

with heightened color and bent brows that he pushed apart the long,

crimson hangings and came into the immense drawing-room.

It was softly lighted and pleasantly warmed. A fire burned. The tall,

fair visitor rose from a seat near the blaze and turned all in one

rigid piece toward his advancing host. Jasper was perfectly conscious

that his own gesture and speech of greeting were too eager, too

ingratiating, that they had a touch of servility. He hated them

himself, but they were inherited with his blood, as instinctive as the

wagging of a dog's tail. They were met by a precise bow, no smile, no

taking of his outstretched hand.

Jasper drew himself up at once, put the slighted hand on the back of a

tall, crimson-damask chair, and looked his stateliest and most

handsome self.

"Betty hasn't come in yet," he said. "You've been waiting for her?"