"I must speak to Maggie about the dinner," Helena said dully. But when she talked to the woman, interest came back again; this time he should not complain of his food! Maggie smiled indulgently at her excitement, "My, Mrs. Richie, I don't believe no wife could take as good care of Mr. Pryor--and you just his sister!" For the rest of that glowing afternoon, Helena was very happy. She almost forgot that uncomfortable scene with Sam Wright. She talked eagerly of Mr. Pryor to David, quite indifferent to the child's lack of interest. She had many anxious thoughts about what she should wear. If it was a very hot day, how would her white dimity do? Or the thin sprigged blue and white? it was so pretty--bunches of blue flowers on a cross-barred muslin, and made with three flounces and a bertha. She was wandering about the garden just before tea, trying to decide this point, when David came to say that a gentleman wanted to see her. David did not know his name;--he was the old tangled gentleman who lived in the big house on the hill. "_Oh!_" Helena said; she caught her lip between her teeth, and looked at David with frightened eyes. The child was instantly alert. "I'll run and tell him to go home," he said protectingly. But she shook her head. "I've got to see him--oh, David!" The little boy took hold of her skirt, reassuringly; "I'll not let him hurt you," he said. She hardly noticed that he kept close beside her all the way to the house. Mr. Benjamin Wright was sitting on the lowest step of the front porch. His trembling head was sunk forward on his breast; he did not lift it at her step, but peered up from under the brim of his dusty beaver hat; then seeing who it was, he rose, pushing himself up by gripping at the step behind him and clutching his cane first in one hand, then in the other. His face like old ivory chiselled into superb lines of melancholy power, was pallid with fatigue. On his feet, with exaggerated politeness, he took off his hat with a sweeping bow. "Madam, your very obedient!" "Good afternoon," she said breathlessly. Benjamin Wright, tottering a little, changed his cane from his left to his right hand, and chewed orange-skin fiercely. "I have called, madam--" But she interrupted him. "Won't you come in and sit down, sir? And pray allow me to get you a glass of wine." "Come in? No, madam, no. We are simple rustics here in Old Chester; we must not presume to intrude upon a lady of such fashion as you. I fear that some of us have already presumed too much"--he paused for breath, but lifted one veined old hand to check her protest--"too much, I say! Far too much! I come, madam, to apologize, and to tell you--" Again he stopped, panting; "to tell you that I insist that you forbid further intrusion--at least on the part of my grandson." "But," she said, the color hot in her face, "he does not intrude. I don't know what you mean. I--"