mean"--she said abruptly--"that I really ought to go at
once--to-morrow."

"Wouldn't it be best? It troubles me to think of you here--under the
shadow--of this thing."

"I see!--I see! All right. You are going to London to-morrow morning?"
She had risen, and was moving towards the door.

"Yes, I shall go to the Rectory first for news. And then on to the
station."

She paused a moment.

"And if--if she--I don't know what to call her--if she lives?"

"Well, then--I must be free," he said, gravely; adding immediately--"She
passed for fifteen years after she left me as the wife of an Italian I
used to know. It would be very quickly arranged. I should provide for
her--and keep my boy. But all that is uncertain."

"Yes, I understand." She held out her hand. "Cousin Philip--I am awfully
sorry for you. I--I realized--somehow--only after I'd come down
here--that you must have had--things in your life--to make you unhappy.
And you've been so nice--so awfully nice to me! I just want to thank
you--with all my heart."

And before he could prevent her, she had seized his hands and kissed
them. Then she rushed to the door, turning to show him a face between
tears and laughter.

"There!--I've paid you back!"

And with that she vanished.

Helena was going blindly through the hall, towards her own room, when
Peter Dale emerged from the shadows. He caught her as she passed.

"Let me have just a word, Helena! You know, everything will be broken up
here. I only want to say my mother would just adore to have you for the
season. We'd all make it nice for you--we'd be your slaves--just let me
wire to Mater to-morrow morning."

"No, thank you, Peter. Please--please! don't stop me! I want to see
Mrs. Friend."

"Helena, do think of it!" he implored.

"No, I can't. It's impossible!" she said, almost fiercely. "Let me go,
Peter! Good-night!"

He stood, a picture of misery, at the foot of the stairs watching her run
up. Then at the top she turned, ran down a few steps again, kissed her
hand to him, and vanished, the bright buckles on her shoes flashing along
the gallery overhead.

But in the further corner of the gallery she nearly ran into the arms of
Geoffrey French, who was waiting for her outside her room.

"Is it too late, Helena--for me to have just a few words in your
sitting-room?"

He caught hold of her. The light just behind him showed him a tense and
frowning Helena.

"Yes--it is much too late! I can't talk now