"My dear Miss Maggie, not at all—not at all. You have no idea of the quantities of women that prefer to see me alone. Indeed, sometimes I think Mrs. Stacy is a little in the way. Just walk quietly along, miss—not before the windows. Excuse my infirmity, but there are some feelings that one never can throw off. Hold that elegant parasol before that lovely face, and I will be with you in a twinkling. The park is not far off. One moment, while I run up for my cane."
Margaret allowed herself to be persuaded, for the last thing in her mind had been to see Mrs. Stacy. Like those other ladies Matthew had boasted of, she very much preferred to see him alone, and would have been greatly annoyed had Harriet, in fact, appeared at the window.
So, making a merit of her own wishes, she slanted her parasol toward the house and sauntered down the street, while Matthew ran up-stairs, panting for breath, and, entering his parlor, looked anxiously toward the window.
"Matthew, dear, is that you?"
Matthew's foreboding heart revived. That mumbling term of endearment, coming, as it were, through a mouthful of cotton wool, reassured him. He stepped to the sleeping-room door, and found Mrs. Stacy, with her head buried in the pillows and her feet thumping restlessly on the quilt.
"What is the matter, my love?"
"Oh, Stacy, dear, such a sudden take-down! My old neuralgia. Matthew! Matthew! don't leave me! I feel as if I was just a goin'!"
"Oh, nonsense, dear. All you want is plenty of quiet. A good, long sleep would bring you around in no time. Just snuggle down in the pillows, and take yourself off to sleep till I come back."
"Are you going? and me like this? Oh, Matthew!"
"You can't feel it more than I do, Harriet, dear; but I must go down to the bankers with this bill of exchange. Ten thousand dollars isn't to be carried round in a man's pocket safely. Besides, there is a special messenger just come up from the bank; so I must go, you see. But it breaks my heart to leave you so—indeed it does!"