But steps approached; and, to her surprise, Patty saw in the moonlight Bathalina and her quondam husband coming up the walk. They parted midway between the gate and house, Mrs. Mixon advancing alone. "I thought, Bathalina," Patty said, "that you had given that man up." "Law, Miss Patty, how you started me! I thought you would have been a ghost." "Nonsense! Where have you been all this time?" "Traipsin' up and down, up and down, like the Devil, seeking of somebody to devour. I'm worn almost out of my shoes, but Peter would argufy it out. So we've been traipsin' up and down; and this shawl's so thick, and the weather so warm, let alone it's bein' October and ought to be cool, that I am about melted to death." "What makes you wear your shawl, then?" "I'm not a young girl, miss, that I should walk in my figger. I won't go through the streets with my figger showin', if it kills me." "What are you walking with Peter Mixon for, anyway? I thought you were done with him." "Well, miss," the servant answered with a great appearance of candor, "Amanda West wouldn't have him, seein' as he was sort of married to me; and I've been thinking very likely it was all my sinful pride refusing to live with him after the Lord had kind o' jined us." "The Lord kind o' joined you, I should think!" Patty retorted contemptuously. "The Old Evil One had more to do with it." CHAPTER XXX. THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND. The plan which Mrs. Toxteth had once mentioned to Ease, of having a masquerade follow the exhibition, had not been forgotten; and the invitations had accordingly been issued. It was arranged that the actors should meet on the morning following the theatricals, and make some arrangement for the exchange of costumes. About ten o'clock Patty, Flossy, and Will walked over to the Hall together. "I feel like the ashes of yesterday's cigar slopped with the dregs of last night's champagne," yawned Will, with some reminiscence of wicked college frolics. "And I," Flossy said, "feel like this man, you know, that"-- "No, I don't know," he interrupted. "I never know 'this man,' Floss; but I'm sorry you feel like him." "If you'd kept still, you might have found out who he was; but now you'll never know." "Oh, tell us!" "No, I shall not. 'Twasn't that other, you know, either." Flossy's "this man," or "that other, you know," were as famous in her particular circle as Sairy Gamp's "Mrs. Harris, my dear," in a more general one. These allusions were seldom intelligible, and it is to be suspected that sometimes the little witch made them purposely obscure for her own amusement.