CHAPTER XVIII.
ON the day after the interview with Mrs.De Lisle, Mrs.Dexter, whose mind had been lifted quite above its morbid state, was sitting alone at one of the parlor windows.

She had been noting, with curious interest, the types of character in faces that met her eyes, and then disappeared to give place to others as singularly varied, when a new countenance, on which her eyes fell, lighted up suddenly.
It was that of Hendrickson, whom she had not seen since their parting at Newport.

He paused, lifted his hat, bowed and went on.

It was no cold, formal recognition; but one full of earnest life, and warm with sudden feeling.

Mrs.Dexter was conscious of a quick heart-throb that sent a glow to her pale cheeks.
Unfortunate coincidence! The next face, presenting itself almost in the same instant of time, was that of her husband.