The next morning between ten and eleven the door bell rang, and in a moment Jenny Lincoln, whose father's house was just opposite, came tripping into the parlor. She had lost in a measure that rotundity of person so offensive to her mother, and it seemed to Mary that there was a thoughtful expression on her face never seen there before, but in all other respects, she was the same affectionate, merry-hearted Jenny.
"I just this minute heard you were here, and came over just as I was," said she, glancing at the same time at her rich, though rather untidy morning wrapper. After asking Mary if she wasn't sorry George had gone, and if she expected to find Mr. Stuart, she said, "I suppose you know Ella is here, and breaking every body's heart, of course. She went to a concert with us last evening, and looked perfectly beautiful. Henry says she is the handsomest girl he ever saw, and I do hope she'll make something of him, but I'm afraid he is only trifling with her, just as he tries to do with every body."
"I am afraid so too," said Ida, "but now Mary has come perhaps he'll divide his attentions between the two."
If there was a person in the world whom Mary thoroughly detested, it was Henry Lincoln, and the idea of his trifling with her, made her eyes sparkle and flash so indignantly that Ida noticed it, and secretly thought that Henry Lincoln would for once find his match. After a time Mary turned to Jenny, saying, "You haven't told me a word about,—about William Bender. Is he well?"
Jenny blushed deeply, and hastily replying that he was the last time she saw him, started up, whispering in Mary's ear, "Oh, I've got so much to tell you,—but I must go now."
Ida accompanied her to the door, and asked why Rose too did not call. In her usual frank, open way, Jenny answered, "You know why. Rose is so queer."
Ida understood her and replied, "Very well; but tell her that if she doesn't see fit to notice my visitors, I certainly shall not be polite to hers."
This message had the desired effect; for Rose, who was daily expecting a Miss King, from Philadelphia, felt that nothing would mortify her more than to be neglected by Ida, who was rather a leader among the young fashionables. Accordingly after a long consultation with her mother, she concluded it best to call upon Mary. In the course of the afternoon, chancing to be near the front window, she saw Mr. Selden's carriage drive away from his door, with Ida and her visitor.
"Now is my time," thought she; and without a word to her mother or Jenny, she threw on her bonnet and shawl, and in her thin French slippers, stepped across the street and rang Mr. Selden's door bell. Of course she was "so disappointed not to find the young ladies at home," and leaving her card for them, tripped back, highly pleased with her own cleverness.
Meantime Ida and Mary were enjoying their ride about the city, until coming suddenly upon an organ-grinder and monkey, the spirited horses became frightened and ran, upsetting the carriage, and dragging it some distance. Fortunately Ida was only bruised, but Mary received a severe cut upon her head, which, with the fright, caused her to faint. A young man, who was passing down the street and saw the accident, immediately came to the rescue; and when Mary awoke to consciousness, Billy Bender was supporting her, and gently pushing back from her face the thick braids of her long hair. At first she thought she was not much hurt, but when she attempted to lift her head she uttered a cry of pain, and laid it heavily back upon his bosom.