“What is it?” inquired Mrs. Dexter.

“She’s too proper.”

“She’s good,” said Mrs. Dexter.

“I’ll grant that; but then she’s too good for me.  I like a little wickedness sometimes.  It’s spicy, and gives a flavor to character.”

Mrs. Anthony laughed one of her musical laughs.  But growing serious in a moment, she said—­

“Now, don’t let her persuade you to humor that capricious husband of yours.  You are something more than an appendage to the man.  God gave you mind and heart, and created you an independent being.  And a man is nothing superior to this, that he should attempt to lord it over his equal.  I have many times watched this most cruel and exacting of all tyrannies, and have yet to see the case where the yielding wife could ever yield enough.  Take counsel in time, my friend.  Successful resistance now, will cost but a trifling effort.”

Mrs. Dexter neither accepted nor repelled the advice; but her countenance showed that the remarks of Mrs. Anthony gave no very pleasant hue to her thoughts.

“Excuse me,” she said rising, “I must see Mrs. De Lisle.”

Mrs. Anthony raised her finger, and gave Mrs. Dexter a warning look, as she uttered the words—­

“Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” was answered.

Mrs. De Lisle received her with a serious countenance.

“You go to Newport in the morning?” she spoke, half-questioning and half in doubt.

“Yes.”

The countenance of Mrs. De Lisle brightened.

“I thought,” she said, after a pause, “that I knew you.”

She stopped, as if in doubt whether to go on.

Mrs. Dexter looked into her face a moment.

“You understand me?” Mrs. De Lisle added.

“I do.”

Mrs. Dexter betrayed unusual emotion.

“Forgive me,” said her friend, “if I have ventured on too sacred ground.  You know how deeply I am interested in you.”

Tears filled the eyes of Mrs. Dexter; her lips quivered; every muscle of her face betrayed an inward struggle.

“Dear friend!” Mrs. De Lisle reached out her hands, and Mrs. Dexter leaned forward against her, hiding her face upon her breast.  And now strong spasms thrilled her frame; and in weakness she wept—­wept a long, long time.  Nature had her way.  But emotion spent itself, and a deep calm followed.

“Dear, patient, much-enduring, true-hearted friend!”

Mrs. De Lisle spoke almost in a whisper, her lips, close to the ear of Mrs. Dexter.  The words, or at least some of them, had the effect to rouse the latter from her half lethargic condition.  Lifting her face from the bosom of her friend, she looked up and said—­

Patient?  Much enduring?

“Is it not so?  God give you wisdom, hope, triumph!  I have looked into your heart many times, Mrs. Dexter.  Not curiously, not as a study, not to see how well you could hide from common eyes its hidden anguish, but in deep and loving compassion, and with a strong desire to help and counsel.  Will you admit me to a more sacred friendship?”