"Pray do not fret yourself about that," he said. "I do not quite dare to tell you how exceedingly proud I am of you and your career. I sometimes wish, though, that you did not keep so busy with pupils—I assure you there is not the slightest need——"
"Oh, but I love the dear things!" Helen eagerly interposed. "They bring so much brightness and joy into my life."
"Of which, believe me, I would not rob you in the least degree," the gentleman earnestly replied, and, seeing she was very much in earnest, he pressed the matter no further.
So Helen resumed her work, as usual, upon her return to New York. She was in perfect health, and still a very beautiful woman. She was also happy in Dorothy's happiness; life seemed very bright, and she looked forward to the coming season with much of anticipation, even enthusiasm.
One morning, about a week after the wedding, she went up the river to the new home, which was fast nearing completion. It was now in process of being decorated and furnished, under the supervision of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander, Senior, who insisted upon having her join them whenever she could spare the time, to give them the benefit of her taste and knowledge regarding Dorothy's preferences.
They spent a delightful day together, overseeing the placing of china and bric-a-brac, the hanging of draperies, pictures, et cetera, and attending to numerous other details. At noon they enjoyed a dainty lunch, prepared and sent over by the cook at the other house, in Dorothy's bright, luxuriously appointed kitchen; then they resumed their pleasant occupations, working busily until it was time for Helen to go, when she was whirled down to the steamer landing in Mr. Alexander's fine limousine, just in time to catch the early evening boat back to the city.
It was a balmy, almost summerlike, evening in spite of the fact that it was on the verge of November, and Helen, securing a camp chair, made her way to a sightly spot on the stern deck, and seated herself to enjoy the delightful atmosphere and lovely scenery as the steamer glided smoothly down the river. She was in a most harmonious frame of mind, for her heart was at rest and the future full of hope. There was a joyous light in her eyes, and a happy smile on her lips, as, in imagination, she looked forward to Dorothy's home-coming, and the delight she would experience in taking possession of that luxurious nest awaiting her among yonder beautiful hills, away from the dust and turmoil of the busy metropolis. As the boat drew near to its pier she rose and leisurely made her way inside to descend to the lower deck. She had just reached the head of the stairs, where she was forced to pause a moment because of the crowd ahead of her, when some one behind her gave utterance to a startled, but quickly repressed, exclamation.
Involuntarily she glanced back over her shoulder at the sound, when her features suddenly froze into a look of horror.
"Helen!" faltered a voice she could not fail to recognize, notwithstanding it was tremulous from emotion and hoarse from a heavy cold.
But the man! Could that haggard, white-faced creature—that emaciated, poorly clad figure, with his shabby hat, neglected beard and hair, ever have been the cultured, debonair, elegant John Hungerford, who had wooed and won her girlish heart and hand more than twenty-five years ago?