She had been waiting for him nearly an hour, and she now returned his greeting with an air more befitting a queen than Adelaide Huntington—for she it was; and by some singular co-incidence she had come to rent a house of Mr. Howland just as Alice Warren had done but two or three weeks before. The failure which had ruined Mr. Warren had not affected Mrs. Huntington further than the mortification and grief she naturally felt at the disgrace and desertion of her husband, from whom she had never heard since he left her so suddenly on the night of the party—neither had she ever met with Mr. Warren, although she had written him a note, assuring him that in no way had she been concerned in the fraud. Still her position in the city was not particularly agreeable, and after a time she had removed to Springfield, Mass., where she took in plain sewing—for without her husband’s salary it was necessary that she should do something for the maintenance of her family. Springfield, however, was quite too large for one of Adelaide’s proud, ambitious nature. “She would rather live in a smaller place,” she said, “where she could be _somebody_. She had been trampled down long enough, and in a country village she would be as good as any one.” Hearing by chance of Oakland and its democratic people, she had persuaded her mother into removing thither, giving her numerous directions as to the manner in which she was to demean herself. “With a little management,” she said, “no one need to know that we have _worked_ for a living—we have only left the city because we prefer the country,” and old Peggy, who still served in the capacity of servant, was charged repeatedly “never to say a word concerning their former position in society.” In short, Adelaide intended to create quite a sensation in Oakland, and she commenced by assuming a most haughty and consequential manner toward both Mr. Howland and his sister. “She had come as _ma’s_ delegate,” she said, to rent the white house on the hill, which they had heard was vacant. Possibly if they liked the country, they should eventually purchase, but it was doubtful—people who have always lived a city life were seldom contented elsewhere. Still, she should try to be happy, though of course she should miss the advantages which a larger place afforded. All this and much more she said to Mr. Howland, who, hardly knowing whether she were renting a house of him or he were renting one of her, managed at last to say: “Your mother is a widow, I presume?” Instantly the dark eyes sought the floor, and Adelaide’s voice was very low in its tone as she answered: “I lost my father nearly a year since.”