"Thank you. I shall be glad to avail myself of the privilege."
"Good-by. You will come Saturday?"
"Yes; if nothing occurs to prevent, I will come in the afternoon." Beulah pressed her offered hand, and saw her descend the steps with a feeling of pity which she could not exactly analyze. Passing by the window, she glanced down, and paused to look upon an elegant carriage standing before the door. The day was cold, but the top was thrown back, and on one of the cushions sat, or, rather, reclined, a richly dressed and very beautiful girl. As Beulah leaned out to examine the lovely stranger more closely Cornelia appeared. The driver opened the low door, and, as Cornelia stepped in, the young lady, who was Miss Dupres, of course, ejaculated rather peevishly:
"You stayed an age!"
"Drive down the Bay Road, Wilson," was Cornelia's reply, and, as she folded her rich cloak about her, the carriage was whirled away.
Beulah went back to the fire, warmed her fingers, and resumed her drawing, thinking that she would not willingly change places with the petted child of wealth and luxury.
CHAPTER XX.
It was a dreary Saturday afternoon, but Beulah wrapped a warm shawl about her, and set out to pay the promised visit. The air was damp and raw, and leaden, marbled clouds hung in the sky. Mr. Graham's house was situated in the fashionable part of the city, near Mr. Grayson's residence, and, as Beulah passed the crouching lions, she quickened her steps, to escape the painful reminiscences which they recalled. In answer to her ring, the servant ushered her into the parlors, furnished with almost Oriental magnificence, and was retiring, when she gave her name.
"You are Miss Benton, then. I have orders to show you up at once to Miss Cornelia's room. She has seen no visitors today. This way, miss, if you please."
He led the way, up an easy, spiral flight of steps, to the door of a room, which he threw open. Cornelia was sitting in a large cushioned chair by the fire, with a papier-mache writing-desk beside her, covered with letters. There was a bright fire in the grate, and the ruddy haze, together with the reflection from the crimson damask curtains, gave a dim, luxurious aspect to the chamber, which in every respect betokened the fastidious taste of a petted invalid. Clad in a dark silk robe-de-chambre, with her cheek pressed against the blue velvet lining of the chair, Cornelia's face wore a sickly, sallow hue, which was rendered more palpable by her black, glittering eyes and jetty hair. She eagerly held out her hand, and a smile of sincere pleasure parted the lips, which a paroxysm of pain seemed to have just compressed.