Southern States -- History -- 1865-1877 -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
A day or two later a steamship of one of the less popular companies
sailing to a Continental port had among its passengers a gentleman and a
lady who, having secured their accommodations at the last moment, did
not appear on the passenger list.
It happened that they were unknown to any of the other passengers, and
as they were very exclusive, they made no acquaintances during the
voyage. If Mrs. Wagram, the name by which the lady was known on board,
had one regret, it was that Mr. Plume had failed to send her her
marriage certificate, as he had promised to do. Her husband, however,
made so light of it that it reassured her, and she was too much taken up
with her wedding-ring and new diamonds to think that anything else was
necessary.
CHAPTER XX
MRS. LANCASTER'S WIDOWHOOD
The first two years of her widowhood Alice Lancaster spent in
retirement. Even the busy tongue of Mrs. Nailor could find little to
criticise in the young widow. To be sure, that accomplished critic made
the most of this little, and disseminated her opinion that Alice's grief
for Mr. Lancaster could only be remorse for her indifference to him
during his life. Every one knew, she said, how she had neglected him.
The idea that Alice Lancaster was troubled with regrets was not as
unfounded as the rest of Mrs. Nailor's ill-natured charge. She was
attached to her husband, and had always meant to be a good wife to him.
She was as good a wife as her mother and her friends would permit her to
be. Gossip had not spared some of her best friends. Even as proud a
woman as young Mrs. Wentworth had not escaped. But Gossip had never yet
touched the name of Mrs. Lancaster, and Alice did not mean that it
should. It was not unnatural that she should have accepted the liberty
which her husband gave her and have gone out more and more, even though
he could accompany her less and less.
No maelstrom is more unrelenting in its grasp than is that of Society.
Only those who sink, or are cast aside by its seething waves, escape.
And before she knew it, Alice Lancaster had found herself drawn into the
whirlpool.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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