But Mark was too fond of dancing to quit it at once, and finding Helen still indifferent, he yielded to circumstances, and the last she saw of him, as at a comparative early hour she left the gay scene, he was dancing again with Juno. It was a heavy blow to Helen, for she had become greatly interested in Mark Ray, whose attentions had made her stay in New York so pleasant. But these were over now;—at least the excitement they brought was over, and Helen, as she sat in her dressing-room at home, and thought of the future as well as the past, felt stealing over her a sense of desolation and loneliness such as she had experienced but once before, and that on the night when leaning from her window at the farm-house where Mark Ray was stopping she had shuddered and shrank from living all her days among the rugged hills of Silverton. New York had opened an entirely new world to her, showing her much that was vain and frivolous, with much too that was desirable and good; and if there had crept into her heart the thought that a life with such people as Mrs. Banker and those who frequented her house would be preferable to a life in Silverton, where only Morris understood her, it was but the natural result of daily intercourse with one who had studied to please and interest as Mark Ray had done. But Helen had too much good sense and strength of will, long to indulge in what she would have called “love-sick regrets” in others, and she began to devise the best course for her to adopt hereafter, concluding finally to treat him much as she had done, lest he should suspect how deeply she had been wounded. Now that she knew of his engagement, it would be an easy matter so to demean herself as neither to annoy Juno nor vex him. Thoroughly now she understood why Juno Cameron had seemed to dislike her so much. “It is natural,” she said, “and yet I honestly believe I like her better for knowing what I do. There must be some good beneath that proud exterior, or Mark would never seek her.” Still, look at it from any point she chose, it seemed a strange, unsuitable match, and Helen’s heart ached sadly as she finally retired to rest, thinking what _might have been_ had Juno Cameron found some other lover more like herself than Mark could ever be. CHAPTER XXIII. BABY’S NAME. Wilford had wished for a son, and in the first moment of disappointment he had almost been conscious of a resentful feeling toward Katy, who had given him only a daughter. A boy, a Cameron heir, was something of which to be proud; but a little girl, scarcely larger than the last doll with which Katy had played, was a different thing, and it required all Wilford’s philosophy and common sense to keep him from showing his chagrin to the girlish creature, whose love had fastened with an idolatrous grasp upon her child, clinging to it with a devotion which made Helen tremble as she thought what if God should take it from her.