For Mrs. Gordon was a flirt; that had become tolerably obvious. Bernard
had known of old that Blanche Evers was one, and two or three months'
observation of his friend's wife assured him that she did not judge
a certain ethereal coquetry to be inconsistent with the conjugal
character. Blanche flirted, in fact, more or less with all men, but
her opportunity for playing her harmless batteries upon Bernard were of
course exceptionally large. The poor fellow was perpetually under fire,
and it was inevitable that he should reply with some precision of aim.
It seemed to him all child's play, and it is certain that when his back
was turned to his pretty hostess he never found himself thinking of
her. He had not the least reason to suppose that she thought of
him--excessive concentration of mind was the last vice of which he
accused her. But before the winter was over, he discovered that Mrs.
Gordon Wright was being talked about, and that his own name was, as the
newspapers say, mentioned in connection with that of his friend's wife.
The discovery greatly disgusted him; Bernard Longueville's chronicler
must do him the justice to say that it failed to yield him an even
transient thrill of pleasure.
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