And, indeed, the fifty thousand dollars did seem to make an impression
on the young man, who grew interested at once, making numerous
inquiries, asking where he would be most likely to see her.
"At church," was Anna's reply. "She is always there, and their pew joins
ours."
Dr. Richards was exceedingly vain, and his vanity manifested itself from
the tie of his neckerchief down to the polish of his boots. Once, had
Hugh Worthington known him intimately, he would have admitted that there
was at least one man whose toilet occupied quite as much time as
Adaline's. In Paris the vain doctor had indulged in the luxury of a
valet, carefully keeping it a secret from his mother and sisters, who
were often compelled to deny themselves that the money he asked for so
often might be forthcoming. But that piece of extravagance was over now;
he dared not bring his valet home, though he sadly wished him there as
he meditated upon the appearance he would make in church next Sabbath.
He was glad there was something new and interesting in Snowdon in the
shape of a pretty girl, for he did not care to return at once to New
York, where he had intended practicing his profession. There were too
many sad memories clustering about that city to make it altogether
desirable, but Dr. Richards was not yet a hardened wretch, and thoughts
of another than Alice Johnson, with her glorious hair and still more
glorious figure, crowded upon his mind as on that first evening of his
return, he sat answering questions and asking others of his own.
It was late ere the family group broke up, and the storm, beating so
furiously upon Spring Bank, was just making its voice heard around
Terrace Hill mansion, when the doctor took the lamp the servant brought,
and bidding his mother and sisters good-night, ascended the stairs
whither Anna had gone before him. She was not, however, in bed, and
called softly to him: "John, Brother John, come in a moment, please."