As the door opened to admit her, I saw him cast one look at her heavily draped person, with its snowy opera-cloak drawn tightly over the sweeping folds of her maize colored silk, and shrink back with what sounded like a sigh of anger or distrust, and without waiting for the closing of the door upon her, turn toward home with a step that hesitated no longer.
The fourth day to my infinite chagrin, I was sick and could not go with him.

All I could do was to wrap myself in blankets and sit in my window from which I had the satisfaction of viewing him start as I supposed upon his usual course.

The rest of the day was employed in a long, dull waiting for his return, only relieved by casual glimpses of Mrs.
Daniels' troubled face as she appeared at one window or another of the old-fashioned mansion before me.

She seemed, too, to be unusually restless, opening the windows and looking out with forlorn cranings of her neck as if she too were watching for her master.

Indeed I have no doubt from what I afterwards learned, that she was in a state of constant suspense during these days.