Mrs. Banker had lived in the country, and had seen just such women as Aunt Betsy Barlow, understanding her intrinsic worth, and knowing how Helen Lennox, though her niece, could still be refined and cultivated. She could also understand how one educated as Wilford Cameron had been, would shrink from coming in contact with her, and possibly be rude if she thrust herself upon him. Mark did well to bring her here, she thought, as she left the room to order the tea which the tired woman so much needed. The satchel, umbrella, and cap-box, with a note from Mattie, had by this time arrived, and in her Sunday cap, with the purple bows, Aunt Betsy felt better, and enjoyed the tempting little supper, served on silver and Sèvres china, the attendant waiting in the hall instead of in her room, where her presence might embarrass one unaccustomed to such usages. They were very kind, and had Mark been her own son he could not have been more deferential than he appeared when just before starting for the dinner he went up to see her, asking what message he should take to Helen. Mrs. Banker, too, came in, her dress eliciting many compliments from her guest, who ventured to ask the price of the diamond pin which fastened the point lace collar. Five hundred dollars seemed an enormous sum, but Aunt Betsy was learning not to say all she thought, and merely remarked that Katy had some diamonds too, which she presumed cost full much as that.
“She should do very well alone,” she said; “she could read her Bible, and if she got too tired, go to bed,” and with a good-bye she sent them away, after saying to Mrs. Banker, “Maybe you ain’t the kissin’ kind, but if you be, I wish you would kiss Katy once for me.”
There was a merry twinkle in Mark’s eyes as he asked,
“And Helen too?”
“I meant your marm, not you,” Aunt Betsy answered; while Mrs. Banker raised her hand to her mischievous son, who ran lightly down the stairs, carrying a happier heart than he had known since Helen Lennox first came to New York, and he met her at the depot.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE DINNER PARTY.
It was a very select party which Wilford Cameron entertained that evening; and as the carriages rolled to his door and deposited the guests, the cloud which had been lifting ever since he came home and found “no Barlow woman” there, disappeared, leaving him the blandest, most urbane of hosts, pleased with everybody—himself, his guests, his sister-in-law, and his wife, who had never looked better than she did to-night, in pearls and light blue silk, which harmonized so perfectly with her wax-like complexion. Aunt Betsy’s proximity was wholly unsuspected, both by her and Helen, who was very handsome, in crimson and black, with lilies in her hair. Nothing could please Mark better than his seat at table, where he could look into her eyes, which dropped so shyly whenever they met his gaze. Helen was beginning to doubt the story of his engagement with Juno. Certainly she could not mistake the nature of the attentions he paid to her, especially to-night, when he hovered continually near her, totally ignoring Juno’s presence, and conscious apparently of only one form, one face, and that the face and form of Helen Lennox.
There was another, too, who felt the influence of Helen’s beauty, and that was Lieutenant Bob, who, after dinner, attached himself to her side, while around them gathered quite a group, all listening with peals of laughter as Bob related his adventure of two days before, with “the most rustic and charming old lady it was ever his fortune to meet.” Told by Bob the story lost nothing of its freshness; for every particular, except indeed the kindness he had shown her, was related, even to the sheep-pasture, about which she was going to New York to consult a lawyer.
“I thought once of referring her to you, Mr. Cameron,” Bob said; “but couldn’t find it in my heart to quiz her, she was so wholly unsuspicious. You have not seen her, have you?”
“No,” came faintly from the lips which tried to smile; but Wilford knew who was the heroine of that story; wondering more and more where she was, and feeling a sensation of uneasiness, as he thought, “Can any accident have befallen her?”