The sternness of his mouth, the gravity and indignation of his
look, seemed to her most manly and noble. She felt that he had by his
bearing mastered the absurd circumstances in which he was placed; she
smiled bitterly to think how poor and flippant had been her own
thoughtless jest. When Maurice threw the favor on the table, Berenice
saw Clara Carstair take it up and give it to Parker Stanford. She
watched Wynne and Mrs. Wilson leave the hall, two solemn, black-robed
figures passing like shadows among the dancers. When they had
disappeared she sat with eyes cast down, her thoughts in a whirl of
regret, anger, and confusion.
"Well, did you ever know Mrs. Wilson to get up a circus equal to that
before?" queried her partner, coming back to his place beside her. "She
gets more amazing every day."
"She certainly gets to be worse form every day. It's outrageous that
everybody lets Mrs. Wilson do anything she chooses, no matter how bad
taste it is."
"Oh, she amuses folks," Mr. Van Sandt said. "Nobody takes her
seriously."
"It is time that they did," answered Berenice rather sharply. "Such a
performance as this to-night makes us all seem vulgar,--as if we were
her accomplices.
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