LYDIA’s HUSBAND.
complained, notwithstanding his dislike to visitors in general.
Lydia was much occupied in her house, and indeed Mrs. Warner’s presence had become exceedingly distasteful to her. She never reproached Guy, never hinted at the fears which had begun to take a name and haunted her lonely hours. At places of amusement Mrs. Warner was their frequent companion, and her opinions had become so powerful that Lydia might reasonably have doubted whether she was mietrdfcs in her own house, but still she did not complain, certain that harsh words would only augment the evil, for she knew’ that Guy yet; loved her fondly, and beyond the gratification of his pampered vanity meditated no wrong toward her.
But Mrs. Warner had Acquired an influence over him of which he did not dream. She insisted upon making herself his confident—genius had ils hours of loneliness and discouragement— who could understand such feelings as she could? So Guy became a frequent visitor at her house, and though I am sorry to confess it, sometimes of a Sunday evening took his wife to visit a pious old aunt, and went himself to Mrs. Warner’s afterward.
His affection for Lydia was undiminislied, but eight months of married life had slightly worn away the romance, and Guy liked novelty. He grew restless and uneasy, but why he could not; have told; the quiet of his home at times seemed almost irksome, and he was vexed with Lydia for appearing so content with what he termed monotony. Mrs. Warner saw this; beneath her affectation of innocence she was a keen, scrutinixing observer. Adoration was her existence, and she was too thoroughly selfish ever to think of the pain which she might cause others. She had decided that Lydia was no fit wife for her “Raphael,” and there was every fear if her influence over him continued, that she might succeed in making him believe the same.
Mrs. Warner was a thorough “new” light,” though too wise even to make herself oonspicu- ous. She confessed to a belief in the doctrine of affinity—as far as souls went—clairvoyance was to her a beautiful and intelligible theory, she avowed, and she had once been almost a convert to spiritualism. Years before she had separated from her husband, because his rather antiquated ideas concerning a wife’s duties were not in unison with her refined sensibilities; and even when tidings of his death reached her, she felt no remorse for conduct which had hurried him to his grave. Since then she had had no desire to relinquish her dearly prized freedom,
and many a household could have dated its first
misery from her entrance into its precincts.
This was the woman who was so rapidly in¬ sinuating herself into the confidence of Guy Havens, whose impulsive temperament rendered him, for a season, a fit subject for her wiles.
Toward spring an anonymous romance made its appearance, which attracted much attention in literary circles, and rumor was busy in attri¬ buting it to a dozen different sources. The ad¬ mirers of Mrs. Warner were inclined to believe her the author, although the style of the work was totally at variance with her former produc¬ tions. Guy thought it hers, and expressed his belief to Lydia, who only smiled.
One evening, at a party, the subject was dis¬ cussed before Mrs. Warner’s arrival, and several of her adherents grew quite earnest in their arguments to prove that she was indeed the author of the work. While the discussion was going on the lady entered, and a little group gathered arouud her with a thousand nonsensical compliments.
“It is useless to attempt any deception,” they said, “you may as well acknowledge yourself the author.”
Guy took a wreath from a basket of flowers and placed it playfully upon her forehead.
“Let us crown the new Corinne,” he said.
Mrs. Warner stood for a moment, as if trying to summon sufficient courage to deny her right to the honor; but her excessive vanity mastered the good impulse, and she raised her eyes to Guy’s face with her most winning look, saying only,
“Well, if you insist upon forcing the authorship on me, I cannot help it.”
Lydia watched her with feelings of utter contempt; at that moment she despised the woman too heartily even too feel pain at Haven’s undisguised admiration. Mrs. Warner remarked her silence; and her concealed dislike for Lydia could not longer be wholly restrained.
Later in the evening, Mrs. Havens was standing in a window recess, concealed from view by the draperies, when, before fehe was aware of it, her husband and Mrs. Warner approached the spot in earnest conversation.
“I believe our friendship must be given up, your wife does not like it,” were the first words which reached her.
“That is your fancy,” Guy said, “she must appreciate your genius too highly for such feelings.”
“Ah! my friend, you men know so little of women! I would not for the world make dear Lydia jealous.’
