hardly trust so precious a jewel as that out
of his sight. They say he is half-maddened by jealousy."

"And with reason, probably. Weak men, with brilliant, fashionable
wives, have cause for jealousy. He's a fool to bring her right into
the very midst of temptation."

"Can't help himself, I presume. It might not be prudent to
attempt the caging system."

A low, chuckling laugh followed. How the blood did go rushing and
seething through the veins of Leon Dexter!

"I intend to know more of her," was continued. "Where do they live?"

"In B--."

"Ah! I shall be there during the winter."

"She sees a great deal of company, I am told. Has weekly or monthly
'evenings' at which some of the most intellectual people in the city
may be found."

"Easy of access, I suppose?"

"No doubt of it."

Dexter heard no more. On the next day he started with his wife for
Newport. The journey was a silent one. They had ceased to converse
much when alone. And now there were reasons why Mr. Dexter felt
little inclination to intrude any common-places upon his wife.

They were passing into the hotel, on their arrival, when Mr. Dexter,
who happened to be looking at his wife, saw her start, flush, and
then turn pale. It was the work of an instant. His eyes followed the
direction of hers, but failed to recognize any individual among the
group of persons near them as the one who thus affected her by his
presence. He left her in one of the parlors, while he made
arrangements for rooms. In a few minutes he returned. She was
sitting as he had left her, seeming scarcely to have stirred during
his absence. Her eyes were on the floor, and when he said, "Come,
Jessie!" she started and looked up at him, in a confused way.

"Our apartments are ready; come."

He had to speak a second time before she seemed to comprehend his
meaning. She arose like one in deep thought, and moved along by her
husband's side, leaving the parlor, and going up to the rooms which
had been assigned to them. The change in her countenance and manner
was so great, that her husband could not help remarking upon it.

"Are you not well, Jessie?" he asked, as she sat down with a weary
air.

"Not very well," she answered--yet with a certain evasion of tone
that repelled inquiry.

Mr. Dexter scanned her countenance sharply. She lifted her eyes at
the moment to his face, and started slightly at the unusual meaning
she saw therein. A flush betrayed her disturbed condition;