ad 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. I was wondering why no one spoke to her, why
she spoke to no one, when I saw her sink into a chair on the other side
of Mr. Vanderbridge and unfold her napkin. She was quite young, younger
even than Mrs. Vanderbridge, and though she was not really beautiful,
she was the most graceful creature I had ever imagined. Her dress was of
gray stuff, softer and more clinging than silk, and of a peculiar misty
texture and colour, and her parted hair lay like twilight on either side
of her forehead. She was not like any one I had ever seen before--she
appeared so much frailer, so much more elusive, as if she would vanish
if you touched her. I can't describe, even months afterwards, the
singular way in which she attracted and repelled me.

At first I glanced inquiringly at Mrs. Vanderbridge, hoping that she
would introduce me, but she went on talking rapidly in an intense,
quivering voice, without noticing the presence of her guest by so much
as the lifting of her eyelashes. Mr. Vanderbridge still sat there,
silent and detached, and all the time the eyes of the stranger--starry
eyes with a mist over them--looked straight through me at the tapestry
on the wall. I knew s