Her conversation was almost always within the range of New York fashionable themes; and barren of any food upon which the mind could grow.  There was not even the pretence of affection between her and her husband.  The fairest specimen of well bred indifference I had yet seen was exhibited in their conduct to each other.  Their babe did not seem to be a matter of much account either.  Delia took no personal care of it whatever—­leaving all this to the nurse.

It happened one day that I was called in to see the child.  I found it suffering from some of the ill effects of difficult dentition, and did what the case required.  There was an old friend of Delia’s at the house—­a young lady who had been much attached to her, and who still retained a degree of her old friendship.  They were talking together in a pleasant, familiar way, when I came down stairs from my visit to the sick child—­the mother had not shown sufficient interest in the little sufferer to attend me to the nurse’s room.  A word or two of almost careless inquiry was made;—­I had scarcely answered the mother’s queries, when her friend said, in a laughing way, looking from the window at the same time,

“There, Delia! see what you escaped.”

I turned my eyes in the same direction, and saw Mr. Wallingford walking past, on the opposite side of the street, with his head bent down.  His step was slow, but firm, and his air and carriage manly.

Delia shrugged her shoulders, and drew up the corners of her lips.  There was an expression very much like contempt on her face.—­But she did not make any reply.  I saw this expression gradually fade away, and her countenance grow sober.  Her friend did not pursue the banter, and the subject dropped.

What she had escaped!  It was a dark day in the calendar of her life, when she made that escape; and I think there must have been times when a consciousness of this fact pressed upon her soul like a suffocating nightmare.

CHAPTER XVI.

Spring opened again, and the days glided swiftly on towards summer; and yet, so far as the movements of the executors could be traced, nothing had been done in the work of searching for the heirs.  One day, early in June, Mrs. Montgomery sent for Mr. Wallingford.  On attending her, she placed in his hands a communication which she had just received.  It was from the executors, giving notice in a kind and respectful way, that, for the interest of the legal heirs, and their own security, it would be necessary for them to assume full possession of the mansion and grounds, unless she felt willing to pay a rental that was equivalent to the interest on their value.

“I have expected this,” said the lady; “and, so far from considering myself aggrieved, feel grateful that a quiet residence here has been so long accorded me.”

“You will remove?”

“There is no other course left.  My income will not justify a rent of some three thousand dollars.”