Newhaven was looking up from below with an "enchanted" smile--the
word is Trix's own; I should probably have used a different one.
Was then the curate of Poltons utterly defeated--brought to his
knees, only to be spurned? It seemed so; and he came down to
dinner that night with a subdued and melancholy expression.
Trix, on the other hand, was brilliant and talkative to the last
degree, and the gayety spread from her all around the table,
leaving untouched only the rejected lover and Mrs. Wentworth; for
the last named lady, true to her distinguishing quality, had
begun to talk to poor Jack Ives in low, soothing tones.
After dinner Trix was not visible; but the door of the little
boudoir beyond stood half-open, and very soon Newhaven edged his
way through. Almost at the same moment Jack Ives and Mrs.
Wentworth passed out of the window and began to walk up and down
the gravel. Nobody but myself appeared to notice these
remarkable occurrences, but I watched them with keen interest.
Half an hour passed, and then there smote on my watchful ear the
sound of a low laugh from the boudoir. It was followed almost
immediately by a stranger sound from the gravel walk. Then, all
in a moment, two things happened. The boudoir door opened, and
Trix, followed by Newhaven, came in, smiling; from the window
entered Jack Ives and Mrs. Wentworth. My eyes were on the
curate. He gave one sudden, comprehending glance toward the
other couple; then he took the widow's hand, led her up to Dora,
and said, in low yet penetrating tones.
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