Mrs. Deane sat rocking, and casting impatient glances at the little clock upon the mantle.  The book which she had an hour previous been deeply interested in, lay closed upon her lap, while the nervous glancing of her eye towards the door, told that she was anxiously awaiting the arrival of some one.  The clock struck ten, and rising from her seat, she went to the window, and drawing the curtain aside, looked out on the soft summer night.  It was one of those lovely evenings towards the close of the season, when the slightly chilled air reminds one of cosy firesides, and close companionship with those dearest to the heart.  But her thoughts were not of a peaceful cast.  She was alone, and jealous of him who had left her so.  A moment later and the sound of footsteps was heard upon the piazza; a sound which in earlier years she had heard with thrills of pleasure.  But to-night they only loosed the tension of long-pent passion, and selfish thoughts of neglect.  She sank into a chair, and sat with the air of one deeply wronged, as her husband entered the room.

“What, up and waiting for me?” he said, going towards her, his face glowing with mental exhilaration.

She turned coldly from him, and took up her book.  He drew it gently from her, saying,—­

“Listen, Mabel, to me.  I want to talk with you awhile.  You can read when I am away.”

“Yes, sir, I find ample opportunities for that,” and she cast on him a look of keen rebuke.

“Don’t, Mabel; listen to me.”

“I am all attention; why do you not proceed?”

“Do you think I can talk while you are in such a frame of mind?”

“Why, what would you have me do?  I am waiting for your words of wisdom, or, maybe, a lecture on the foibles of the sex in general, and myself in particular; proceed, it’s quite a relief, I assure you, to hear a human voice after these lonely evenings, which seem interminable.”

“Why, Mabel, what do you mean?  I have not spent an evening away from you for nearly a year before this.  My absence this evening has been purely accidental, although I have passed it very agreeably.”

“And may I ask where you find such delightful entertainment, that kept you away till this late hour, for it is nearly midnight?”

“Yes.  I have spent the evening with Miss Evans.”

“That detestable strong-minded-”

“Mabel!  I will not hear her spoken of in this manner.”

“O, no indeed.  All the men in L—­are crazy after her society,—­so refined, so progressive, so intelligent.  I am sick of it all.  I suppose you think we poor wives will submit to all this.  No, no; I shall not, for one.  You will spend your evenings at home with me.  Howard Deane, you have no right to leave me for the society of any woman, as you have to-night.”

Having thus expended her breath and wrath, she sank back into her hair and gave vent to her feelings in a flood of tears.  To her limited sight, she was an injured woman.  How different would she have felt could she have kindly listened to the words which he was longing to speak to her.