Vanderbridge's head, and saw her
glance hastily toward the door and the staircase beyond. We had been
talking animatedly, and as Mrs. Vanderbridge turned away, I had just
made a remark to her husband, who appeared to have fallen into a sudden
fit of abstraction, and was gazing thoughtfully over his soup-plate at
the white and yellow chrysanthemums. It occurred to me, while I watched
him, that he was probably absorbed in some financial problem, and I
regretted that I had been so careless as to speak to him. To my
surprise, however, he replied immediately in a natural tone, and I saw,
or imagined that I saw, Mrs. Vanderbridge throw me a glance of gratitude
and relief. I can't remember what we were talking about, but I recall
perfectly that the conversation kept up pleasantly, without a break,
until dinner was almost half over. The roast had been served, and I was
in the act of helping myself to potatoes, when I became aware that Mr.
Vanderbridge had again fallen into his reverie. This time he scarcely
seemed to hear his wife's voice when she spoke to him, and I watched the
sadness cloud his face while he continued to stare straight ahead of him
with a look that was almost yearning in its intensity.
Again I saw Mrs. Vanderbridge, with her nervous gesture, glance in the
direction of the hall, and to my amazement, as she did so, a woman's
figure glided noiselessly over the old Persian rug at the door, and
entered the dining-room.
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