The little journey was ended, the carriage door thrown open by her own hand, and she was out without his help.
"Good-night; don't get out," and she flew up the steps and rang the bell.
Mr.Belcher ordered the coachman to drive him home, and then sank back on his seat, and crowding his lips together, and compressing his disappointment into his familiar expletive, he rode back to his house as rigid in every muscle as if he had been frozen.
"Is there any such thing as a virtuous devil, I wonder," he muttered to himself, as he mounted his steps.

"I doubt it; I doubt it." The next day was icy.

Men went slipping along upon the side-walks as carefully as if they were trying to follow a guide through the galleries of Versailles.

And in the afternoon a beautiful woman called a boy to her, and begged him to give her his shoulder and help her home.

The request was so sweetly made, she expressed her obligations so courteously, she smiled upon him so beautifully, she praised him so ingenuously, she shook his hand at parting so heartily; that he went home all aglow from his heart to his finger's ends.
Mrs.Dillingham had made Harry Benedict's acquaintance, which she managed to keep alive by bows in the street and bows from the window,--managed to keep alive until the lad worshiped her as a sort of divinity and, to win her smiling recognition, would go out of his way a dozen blocks on any errand about the city.
He recognized her--knew her as the beautiful woman he had seen in the great house across the street before Mr.Belcher arrived in town.
Recognizing her as such, he kept the secret of his devotion to himself, for fear that it would be frowned upon by his good friends the Balfours.
Mr.Belcher, however, knew all about it, rejoiced in it, and counted upon it as a possible means in the accomplishment of his ends..