But Helen was a woman, with a woman’s nature, and so that ride was not without its annoyance, though her face was very bright as she bade Mrs. Banker and Mark good-by, and then ran up the steps to Katy’s home.  That night at the dinner, from which Mrs. Cameron was absent, Wilford was unusually gracious, asking “had she enjoyed her ride, and if she did not find Mrs. Banker a very pleasant acquaintance.”

The fact was, Wilford felt a little uncomfortable himself for having suffered a stranger to do for Katy’s sister what devolved upon himself.  Katy had asked him to drive with Helen; but he had found it very convenient to forget it, and take a seat instead with Juno and Mrs. Grandon, the latter of whom complimented “Miss Lennox’s fine intellectual face,” after they had passed, and complimented it the more as she saw how it vexed Juno, who could see nothing “in those bold eyes and that masculine forehead,” just because their vis-a-vis chanced to be Mark Ray’s.  Juno was not pleased with Helen’s first appearance in the street, but nevertheless she called upon her next day, with Sybil Grandon and her sister, Bell.  To this she was urged by Sybil, who, having a somewhat larger experience of human nature, foresaw that Helen would be popular just because Mrs. Banker had thus early taken her up, and who, besides, had conceived a capricious fancy to patronize Miss Lennox.  But in this she was foiled, for Helen was not to be patronized, and she received her visitors with that calm, assured manner so much a part of herself.

“Diamond cut diamond,” Bell thought, as she saw how frigidly polite both Juno and Helen were, each recognizing in the other something antagonistic, which could never harmonize.

Had Juno never cared for Dr. Grant, or suspected Helen of standing between herself and him, and had Mark Ray never stopped at Silverton, or been seen on Broadway with her, she might have judged her differently, for there was something attractive in Helen’s face and appearance as she sat talking to her guests, not awkwardly nor timidly, but with as much quiet dignity as if she had never mended Uncle Ephraim’s socks, or made a pound of butter among the huckleberry hills.  Bell was delighted, detecting at once traces of the rare mind which Helen Lennox possessed, and wondering to find it so.

“I hope we shall see each other often,” she said, at parting.  “I do not go out a great deal myself—­that is, not as much as Juno—­but I shall be always glad to welcome you to my den.  You may find something there to interest you.”

This was Bell’s leave-taking, while Sybil’s was, if possible, even more friendly, for aside from really fancying Helen, she took a perverse kind of pleasure in annoying Juno, who wondered “what she or Bell could see to like in that awkward country girl, whom she knew had on one of Katy’s cast-off collars, and her wardrobe was the most ordinary she ever saw; fitch furs, think of that!” and Juno gave a little pull at the fastenings of her rich ermine collar, showing so well over her velvet basquine.