There was no baggage in the hall, there had been no woman there, and Wilford's fears for a time subsided, but growing strong again about the time he knew the opera was out, while the sound of wheels coming toward his door was sufficient to make his heart stop beating and every hair prickle at its roots.
But Aunt Betsy did not come except in Wilford's dreams, which she haunted the entire night, so that the morning found him tired, moody, and cross. That day they entertained a select dinner party, and as this was something in which Katy rather excelled, while Helen's presence, instead of detracting from, would add greatly to the _éclat_ of the affair, Wilford had anticipated it with no small degree of complacency. But now, alas! there was a phantom at his side--a skeleton of horror, wearing Aunt Betsy's guise; and if it had been possible he would have given the dinner up. But it was too late for that; the guests were bidden, the arrangements made, and there was nothing now for him but to abide the consequences.
"She shall at least stay in her room, if I have to lock her in," he thought, as he went down to his office without even kissing Katy or bidding her good-by.
But business that day had no interest for him, and in a listless, absent way he sat watching the passers-by and glancing at his door as if he expected the first assault to be made there. Then as the day wore on, and he felt sure that what he so much dreaded had really come to pass, that the baggage expected last night had certainly arrived by this time and spread itself over his house, he could endure the suspense no longer, and startled Mark with the announcement that he was going home, and should not return again that day.
"Going home, when Leavitt is to call at three!" Mark said, in much surprise, and feeling that it would be a relief to unburden himself to some one, the story came out how Wilford had seen Aunt Betsy at the opera, and expected to find her at Madison Square.
"I wish I had answered her letter about that confounded sheep pasture," he said, "for I would rather give a thousand dollars--yes, ten thousand--than have her with us to-day. I did not marry my wife's relations," he continued, excitedly, adding, as Mark looked quickly up, "Of course I don't mean Helen. She is right; and though she rasps me a little, I'd rather have her than not. Neither do I mean that doctor, for he is a gentleman. But this Barlow woman--oh! Mark, I am all of dripping sweat just to think of it."