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Updated: June 9, 2025
In his ignorance, however, the safest and surest course that occurred to him was to hold his tongue, send for Usselex, and leave him to settle the matter as best he might. This course he was about to adopt, and he got out some paper preparatory to wording the message when a servant appeared with a card on a tray. He picked it up, glanced at it, and then over at his daughter.
In this conflict of gossip the real facts were as difficult of discovery as the truth about Kaspar Hauser, and in view of the divergence of rumors there were people sensible enough to maintain that as these rumors could not all be true, they might all be false. Among the latter was Usselex himself.
As he did so, Eden, in annoyance at the intrusion, moved back, and Usselex, with a query on his tongue, turned to him. But before the latter could frame his words, Maule had spoken. "Mr. Usselex," he said, with the air of one ventilating a conventional platitude, "are you aware that a man who insults a woman is a coward?"
And presently, when he had gone, she wondered how it was that she had ever cared for Dugald Maule. A week later the engagement of Miss Menemon to John Usselex was announced. Much comment was excited, and the rumors alluded to were industriously circulated.
Eden had her everyday air; outwardly she was calm, but something in her appearance, the twitch of an eyelid, the quiver of a nostril perhaps, revealed her impatience. Usselex shrugged his shoulders, and for a second, with a gesture that was habitual to him, he plucked at his beard. "No," he repeated, "a moment is small matter, after all. H'm. Eden, some years ago I went abroad.
But still the man made no answer. He raised his arms, the elbows crooked, and assumed the appearance of an idiot. "It is worth five dollars," Maule continued. "Here they are;" and with that he extended a bill of the nation, which the servant took, and then, glancing over his shoulder, whispered: "Mrs. Usselex has gone to her father's, sir. I distrust something's hup."
"Never heard of him," she presently exclaimed, as one who should say, "and for me not to have heard argues him unknown." But Jones was there, and he slipped his oar in at once. "I know him," he answered. "He is the son of a shoemaker. No end of money! Some years ago a cashier of his did the embezzlement act, but Usselex declined to prosecute." "Yes, that is like him," said Eden.
I know little or nothing of Usselex, and I doubt very much whether Eden would be willing to supply me with any information. The only thing for me to do is to cull a few facts, season them to suit her taste, and serve hot. At this stage a false step would be fatal. I must be careful of my cookery.
Usselex took the note, opened the envelope, which he tossed on the table, and possessed himself of the contents. "Is the messenger waiting?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "Very good. Say I will be there immediately." The man bowed and left the room. "I am sorry, Eden " "What is it?" "Nothing of any moment a matter of business to which I must attend." He glanced at the clock. "It is after ten," he added.
In such wise was Desdemona won. It so happened that one evening she chanced to dine with a friend of hers, Mrs. Nicholas Manhattan by name, a lady whose sources of social information were large. Among other guests was Alphabet Jones, the novelist. "Did you ever hear of Mr. Usselex?" Eden asked, over the sweets. Mrs. Manhattan visibly drew on the invisible cap of thought.
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