“Now, Alma,” said her mother, with the
clinging persistence of such natures, “you know
he did. And it’s no use for you to pretend
that we didn’t count upon him in—in
every way. You may not have noticed his attentions,
and I don’t say you did, but others certainly
did; and I must say that I didn’t expect he
would drop us so.”
“Drop us!” cried Alma, in a fury.
“Oh!”
“Yes, drop us, Alma. He must know where
we are. Of course, Mr. Wetmore’s spoken
to him about you, and it’s a shame that he hasn’t
been near us. I should have thought common gratitude,
common decency, would have brought him after—after
all we did for him.”
“We did nothing for him—nothing!
He paid his board, and that ended it.”
“No, it didn’t, Alma. You know what
he used to say—about its being like home,
and all that; and I must say that after his attentions
to you, and all the things you told me he said, I
expected something very dif—”
A sharp peal of the door-bell thrilled through the
house, and as if the pull of the bell-wire had twitched
her to her feet, Mrs. Leighton sprang up and grappled
with her daughter in their common terror.
They both glared at the clock and made sure that it
was five minutes after nine. Then they abandoned
themselves some moments to the unrestricted play of
their apprehensions.
“Why, Alma,” whispered the mother, “who
in the world can it be at this time of night?
You don’t suppose he—”
“Well, I’m not going to the door, anyhow,
mother, I don’t care who it is; and, of course,
he wouldn’t be such a goose as to come at this
hour.” She put on a look of miserable trepidation,
and shrank back from the door, while the hum of the
bell died away, in the hall.
“What shall we do?” asked Mrs. Leighton,
helplessly.
“Let him go away—whoever they are,”
said Alma.
Another and more peremptory ring forbade them refuge
in this simple expedient.
“Oh, dear! what shall we do? Perhaps it’s
a despatch.”
The conjecture moved Alma to no more than a rigid
stare. “I shall not go,” she said.
A third ring more insistent than the others followed,
and she said: “You go ahead, mamma, and
I’ll come behind to scream if it’s anybody.
We can look through the side-lights at the door first.”
Mrs. Leighton fearfully led the way from the back
chamber where they bad been sitting, and slowly descended
the stairs. Alma came behind and turned up the
hall gas-jet with a sudden flash that made them both
jump a little. The gas inside rendered it more
difficult to tell who was on the threshold, but Mrs.
Leighton decided from a timorous peep through the
scrims that it was a lady and gentleman. Something
in this distribution of sex emboldened her; she took
her life in her hand, and opened the door.
The lady spoke. “Does Mrs. Leighton live
heah?” she said, in a rich, throaty voice; and
she feigned a reference to the agent’s permit
she held in her hand.
