There was something about Mark Ray which inspired confidence, and in her extremity Aunt Betsy gasped, "I can't take off my bunnet till I get my caps down to Mrs. Tubbs'. Oh, what a trouble I be."
Not exactly comprehending the nature of the difficulty, Mark suggested that she go without a cap until he could send for them; but Aunt Betsy's assertion that "she was grayer than a rat," enlightened him with regard to her dilemma, and full permission was given for her "to sit in her bonnet" until such time as a messenger could go to the Bowery and back. In this condition she had better be in her own room, and as it was in readiness, Mark himself conducted her to it, the stern gravity of his face putting down the laugh which sprang to the waiting maid's eyes at the old lady's ejaculations of surprise and amazement that anything could be so fine as the house where she so unexpectedly found herself a guest.
"She is unaccustomed to the city, but a particular friend of mine; so see that you treat her with respect," was all the explanation he vouchsafed to the curious girl.
But that was enough. A friend of Mr. Ray's must be somebody, even if she sat with two bonnets on instead of one, and appeared ten times more rustic than Aunt Betsy, who breathed freer when she found herself alone upstairs, and knew her baggage would soon be there.
In some little trepidation Mark paced up and down the parlor waiting for his mother, who came ere long, expressing her surprise to find him there, and asking if anything had happened that he seemed so agitated.
"Yes, I'm in a deuced scrape," he answered, coming up to her with the saucy, winning smile she could never resist, and continuing, "To be in at the foundation, you know how much I am in love with Helen Lennox?"
"No, I don't," was the reply, as Mrs. Banker removed her fur with the most provoking coolness. "How should I know when you have never told me?"
"Haven't you eyes? Can't you see? Don't you like her yourself?"
"Yes, very much."
"And are you willing she should be your daughter?"