Later, when Edith saw her arrayed for an evening reception, she thought her the most brilliantly handsome woman she had ever seen.
As Mrs. Goddard finished speaking, Edith involuntarily glanced up at Mr. Gerald Goddard, when she was startled to find him sharply scrutinizing her, with a look which seemed to be trying to read her through and through.
His glance sent a strange chill running through her veins—a sensation almost of fear and repulsion; and she found herself hoping that she would not be obliged to see very much of the gentleman, even though she was destined to become an inmate of his home.
He was evidently somewhat older than his wife, for his hair was almost white and his face somewhat lined—whether from time, care, or dissipation, Edith could not quite determine.
He would have been called and was regarded by the society in which he moved as a remarkably handsome and distinguished looking man, who entertained "like a prince," and possessed an exhaustless fund of wit and knowledge.
Nevertheless, Edith was repelled by him, and felt that he was not a man to be either trusted or loved, even though she had not been an hour in his presence before she was made to realize that his wife adored him.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE VENOM OF JEALOUSY.
And thus Edith became companion to the wife of the wealthy and aristocratic Gerald Goddard, who was known as one of Boston's millionaires.
They had a beautiful home on Commonwealth avenue, where they spent their winters, a fine estate in Wyoming, besides a villa at Newport, all of which were fitted up with an elegance which bespoke an abundance of means. And so Edith was restored to a life of luxury akin to that to which she had always been accustomed, previous to the misfortunes which had overtaken her less than two years ago.
Her duties were comparatively light, consisting of reading to Mrs. Goddard, whenever she was in the mood for such entertainment; singing and playing to her when she was musically inclined; and accompanying her upon drives and shopping expeditions, when she had no other company.
Edith, however, was not long in the household before she made the discovery that there was a skeleton in the family. At times Mr. Goddard was morose and irritable, and his wife displayed symptoms of intense jealousy. About five weeks after Edith's installation in the home, Mrs. Goddard's brother, Monsieur Correlli, a young sculptor, came there, on a visit to his sister. He was handsome and talented, and had come from France, to "do the United States," during a long vacation.
Mrs. Goddard was proud of her brother, and often attended receptions and parties with him as her escort, and was delighted to show him off to her friends and acquaintances in the most select of Boston society.
On returning to her home, after one of these receptions, she heard merry laughter in the library. Listening attentively, she discovered that it emanated from her husband and Edith, who sometimes, at his request, read to him during the frequent absences of his wife.
The demon of jealousy at once took possession of her. Suddenly entering the library she requested Edith to at once attend her in her boudoir. On arriving there the enraged woman gave way to her passion of jealousy. In blunt words she taunted the girl with attempting to steal the affections of her husband, and closed her bitter comments with the threat that "the woman who tried to win my husband from me would never accomplish her purpose. I would kill her!"
Edith did her best to assure the angry woman that her suspicions were unfounded, and in a little time Mrs. Goddard was half convinced that she had been too hasty in her accusations.
That night the pure girl calmly deliberated upon the subject, and recalled several occasions when Mr. Goddard had seemed to be deeply absorbed in the contemplation of her features, eyeing her with glances of undisguised admiration and rapture. She determined, therefore, to be a little more circumspect hereafter, and avoid giving him such opportunities.
Another trial awaited her about a week later. Emil Correlli had become quite attentive to her, seeking every chance to be alone with her, showering compliments upon her, and extolling her charms. On one of these occasions he was bold enough to propose marriage, and, before she could recover from her astonishment, had the effrontery to steal a kiss from her unwilling lips.
This bold affront, added to the previous unfounded accusations of Mrs. Goddard made Edith decide to leave the house at once. She announced her decision to her mistress; but that lady, in great humiliation, begged her to overlook her brother's impetuosity, saying that his conduct should be considered only "a tribute to her manifold charms," and that hereafter she would have no cause for complaint of either him or her.
The proud woman's deep contrition, and her earnest appeals, had the effect intended, and Edith decided to remain.
That evening a prolonged interview occurred between Mrs. Goddard and her brother. The result of it was that the sister agreed to do her utmost to place Edith beyond the reach of her husband by combining a scheme which would make her the bride of Emil Correlli.
Some days elapsed, and then an incident worthy of record occurred. Edith had been out for a stroll, and, just as she was retracing her steps along Commonwealth avenue, an elegant carriage came slowly around the corner. The driver was in dark green livery, and seemed to be under the influence of stimulants. Suddenly he leaned sideways, and fell off the box, landing on the ground.
Edith impulsively started forward, shouted "Whoa!" to the horses, and lifted the reins. The animals stopped immediately, and in a moment a lovely face was thrust from the carriage window, and a sweet voice asked,
"Thomas, what is the matter?—what has happened?"
She stepped from the carriage and was soon informed of the accident, and its probable cause. She was a tall, elegantly-formed woman, of perhaps forty-three years, with large, dark brown eyes and rich brown hair. Her skin was fair and flawless, as that of a girl of twenty, with a delicate flush upon her cheeks, and Edith thought her face the most beautiful she had ever seen.
A policeman presently appeared upon the scene, and the lady requested him to secure some competent person who would drive the vehicle to its stable. To secure attention to this request, she gave the policeman a bank note, and named the location of the stable. She then said to the coachman, who was engaged in brushing the dust from his clothing:
"Thomas, you may come to me at nine o'clock to-morrow morning—without the carriage."
As the coachman staggered off, the lady turned to Edith, thanked her for the service she had performed, and gave her a card bearing a name and address—"Mrs. I. G. Stewart, Copley Square Hotel, Boston, Mass."
At the solicitation of the lady, Edith gave her name, and stated that she was the companion to Mrs. Gerald Goddard, of Commonwealth avenue.
This information caused Mrs. Stewart to turn pale, and otherwise manifest a strange agitation. She quickly recovered, however, and stated:
"Ah! I was introduced to Mrs. Goddard's brother, Monsieur Correlli, a few evenings ago, but I have never had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Goddard. Now it is time for me to go, and I shall have to take an electric car to get back to my hotel. Again let me thank you for your timely service. I hope you and I will meet again some time; and, dear, if you should ever need a friend, do not fail to come to me. Good-afternoon."
Shortly after the departure of Mrs. Stewart, as Edith was walking homeward, she was overtaken by Emil Correlli, who begged permission to attend her, as they were both bound for the same destination. It would have been rude to refuse, so Edith consented, although she would have preferred to go alone.
They had not advanced far before Edith became aware that they were followed by a woman, who kept parallel with them, on the opposite side of the street. Monsieur Correlli seemed