There was no help for it. The present, too, afforded the best opportunity. I went, and received a cordial welcome from Mrs. Auvergne, who was all that her brother had described her, and more.
"So this is Mr. Moray," she said, as Fred introduced me. "I have heard of you so frequently that I know you already. And Helen has sometimes mentioned you."
The evening passed pleasantly. As we were about leaving, our hostess warmly invited me to renew the visit. "Come soon, and as often as you like," she said; "we shall be always pleased to see you."
Inconsistently enough, I departed from my proposed line of conduct in so far as to accept her invitation. It was lonely sitting in my bachelor abode those long winter evenings; and, after five or six weeks' acquaintance, I had called so frequently at Mrs. Auvergne's as to feel more at home there than anywhere else in New York. I did not think much of the future, of the difficulties that must arise when another member of the family should resume her place in the circle; or, if I did, I was wise or foolish enough not to anticipate them.
Meeting Mr. Auvergne near home one evening, he brought me nolens volens in to tea. We found his wife in the parlor, with her three charming little girls, who had become great friends of mine, and who knew me under the title of "Uncle Fred's brother."
"Something for you, Laura," said Paterfamilias, as he threw a letter into her lap.
"From Helen, is it not?"
"Yes; excuse me, Mr. Moray, while I glance over it. I always give Helen's letters two or three readings. She is growing quite dissipated. 'I have been to three parties this week,' she writes; 'much against my inclination, you will imagine. But Maud and Alice lead such gay lives that one is kept in a perpetual round of sight-seeing and enjoyment—as the world goes. I could never be content to live this way; and feel dubious as to whether I can find it compatible with real duties at home to remain the promised time. You reproached me before I went away with being low-spirited, Laura. Your panacea has not proved beneficial. I am, if not melancholy, not half so cheerful in my mind, as Fred would say, as when I left you. So don't be surprised to see me any morning about breakfast time. Tell the children, Cousin Helen is glad they have found a new friend; but"—here the reader paused; and, after a hurried perusal of the remainder, replaced the missive in its envelope.
"Foolish Helen!" she said, as though talking to herself; then, supper being announced, there was nothing more said on the subject.
On Christmas eve I called with some presents for the children. I had promised them to enlist Santa Claus in their favor, and waited until I thought they would be asleep to bring what toys and trinkets they had told me confidentially would be acceptable. Ushered into the parlor, I did not at first perceive in the dim light that some one was standing near the window. The noise of the door closing caused the occupant of the room to look round, and, as she did so, I recognized Miss Foster.