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Updated: June 26, 2025
When the portière fell behind him, Eden felt a momentary uneasiness at the unpremeditated invitation which she had just extended. One doesn't need to be a German to be stupid, she mused, and felt sure that her husband would disapprove. But when she told him he expressed himself as well pleased. The next day happened to be Sunday, and on that afternoon Mr. Arnswald came to pay his dinner-call.
An artist might not have given her a second glance, a poet would have adored her at the first. And as she still sang, Arnswald entered the room and approached the piano at which she sat. She heard his steps and turned at once expectant of Usselex. Then, seeing that he was alone, "What have you done with my husband?" she asked. "Nothing," the young man answered. "Nothing at all.
Arnswald evidently found her appearance alluring, for his eyes followed her every movement. "Hurry up," she continued, as merrily as before; "the minute's gone." Usselex may have been annoyed, but he affected to enter into the jest. "Your father " he hazarded, and stretched his hand for the note. But Eden again retreated. "You have lost," she cried; "no one was here."
"Whose life is it that you have filled?" she asked, and her voice, that had rippled with laughter a moment before, became suddenly chill and subdued. In the doorway before her the butler appeared in silent announcement that dinner was served. Arnswald made a step forward. "The letter is mine, Mrs. Usselex," he said, "I "
"The people whom we can like are not as infrequent as all that. Do you mean to tell me that there is no one for whom you really care?" Arnswald shook his head and smiled. "No, Mrs. Usselex," he answered, "I don't mean to say that. There are some for whom I care very much. There is even one for whom were it necessary I would lay down life itself." At this Eden experienced a mental start.
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