Then as the enormity of the act grew upon her, she continued more to
herself than to Mattie:

"I mistrusted Catherine, but that Helen should come to this passes me."

Still as she became more accustomed to it, and glanced at other
full-dressed ladies, the first shock passed away, and she could calmly
contemplate Katy's dress, wondering what it cost, and then letting her
eyes pass on to Helen, to whom Mark Ray seemed so loverlike that Aunt
Betsy remembered her impressions when he stopped at Silverton, her heart
swelling with pride as she thought of both the girls making out so well.

"Who is that young man talking to Helen?" Mattie asked, between the
acts, and when told that it was "Mr. Ray, Wilford's partner," she drew
her breath eagerly, and turned again to watch him, envying the young
girl who did not seem as much gratified with the attentions as Mattie
fancied she should do were she in Helen's place.

How could she, with Juno Cameron just opposite, watching her jealously,
while Madam Cameron fanned herself in dignity, refusing to look upon
what she so greatly disapproved.

But Mark did not care who was watching him, and continued his attentions
until Helen wished herself away, and though a good deal surprised, was
not sorry when Wilford abruptly declared the opera a bore, and suggested
going home.

They would order an ice, he said, and have a much pleasanter time in
their own private parlor.

"Please don't go; I rather like the play to-night," Katy said; but on
Wilford's face there was that look which never consulted Katy's wishes,
and so the two ladies tied on their cloaks, and just as the curtain rose
in the last act, left their box, Juno wondering at the movement, and
hoping Mark would now come around to her, while Aunt Betsy looked
wistfully after them, but did not suspect she was the cause of their
exit, and of Wilford's evident perturbation.

Running his eye over the house below, it had fallen upon the trio, Aunt
Betsy, Mattie and Tom, the first of whom was at that moment partly
standing, while she adjusted her heavy shawl, which the heat of the
building had compelled her to unfasten.

There was a start, a rush of blood to the head and face, and then he
reflected how impossible it was that she should be there, in New York,
and at the opera, too.

The shawl arranged, Aunt Betsy took her seat and turned her face fully
toward him, while Wilford seized Katy's glass and leveled it at her. He
was not mi