Admitted at her door, she went to her room in her unusual wrappings, threw herself upon her knees, and buried her face in her bed.  She did not pray; she hardly lifted her thoughts.  She was excessively weary.  Why she knelt she did not know; but on her knees she thought over the occurrences of the evening.  Her hungry soul was full—­full of hopes, plans, purposes.  She had found something to love.

What is that angel’s name who, shut away from ten thousand selfish, sinful lives, stands always ready, when the bearers of those lives are tired of them, and are longing for something better, to open the door into a new realm?  What patience and persistence are his!  Always waiting, always prepared, cherishing no resentments, willing to lead, anxious to welcome, who is he, and whence came he?  If Mrs. Dillingham did not pray, she had a vision of this heavenly visitant, and kissed the hem of his garments.

She rose and walked to her dressing-table.  There she found a note in Mrs. Belcher’s handwriting, inviting her to a drive in the Park with her and Mr. Belcher on the following afternoon.  Whether the invitation was self-moved, or the result of a suggestion from Mr. Belcher, she did not know.  In truth, she did not care.  She had wronged Mrs. Belcher in many ways, and she would go.

Why was it that when the new and magnificent carriage rolled up to her door the next afternoon, with its wonderful horses and showy equipage, and appointments calculated to attract attention, her heart was smitten with disgust?  She was to be stared at; and, during all the drive, she was to sit face to face with a man who believed that he had fascinated her, and who was trying to use her for all the base purposes in which it was possible for her to serve his will.  What could she do with him?  How, in the new relations of her life to him, should she carry herself?

The drive was a quiet one.  Mr. Belcher sat and feasted his greedy, exultant eyes on the woman before him, and marveled at the adroitness with which, to use his own coarse phrase, she “pulled the wool” over the eyes of his wife.  In what a lovely way did she hide her passion for him!  How sweetly did she draw out the sympathy of the deceived woman at her side!  Ah! he could trust her!  Her changed, amiable, almost pathetic demeanor was attributed by him to the effect of his power upon her, and her own subtle ingenuity in shielding from the eyes of Mrs. Belcher a love that she deemed hopeless.  In his own mind it was not hopeless.  In his own determination, it should not be!

As for Mrs. Belcher, she had never so much enjoyed Mrs. Dillingham’s society before.  She blamed herself for not having understood her better; and when she parted with her for the day, she expressed in hearty terms her wish that she might see more of her in the future.

Mrs. Dillingham, on the return, was dropped at her own door first.  Mr. Belcher alighted, and led her up the steps.  Then, in a quiet voice, he said: