his countenance, the repose of his bearing and
manner. His eyes affected her oddly. They were cold and clear as some
frosty, winter's night, the pupils of them very small. They seemed to
see all things, yet tell nothing. They were as windows opening onto an
endless perspective of empty space. They at once challenged curiosity
and baffled inquiry. Helen's excitement deepened, and she was sensible
it needed all the subjective support, all the indirect flattery, with
which the fact of his deformity supplied her self-love to prevent her
standing in awe of him. As consequence her address was impulsive rather
than studied.

"Richard, I have had a detestable winter," she said. "It wore upon me.
It demoralised me. I was growing dull, superstitious even. I wanted to
get away, to put a long distance between myself and certain
experiences, certain memories. I wanted to hear another language. You
have always been sympathetic to me. It was natural, if a little
unconventional, to take refuge with you."

Madame de Vallorbes spoke with an unaccustomed and very seductive air
of apology, her face slightly flushed, her arms hanging straight at her
sides, the long, pink, tulle strings of the hat she carried in her left
hand trailing upon the black-and-white squares of the pavement.

"To do so seemed obvious in contemplation. I did not stop to consider
possible objections. But, in execution, the objections become hourly
more glaringly apparent. I want you to reassure me. Tell me I have not
dared too greatly in coming thus uninvited?"

"Of course not," he answered. "I hope you found the house comfortable
and everything prepared for you. The servants had their orders."

"I know, I know. That you should have provided against the possibility
of my coming some day moved me a little more than I care to tell
you."--Helen paused, looking upon him, and that look had in it a
delicate affinity to a caress. But the young man's manner, though
faultlessly courteous, was lacking in any hint of enthusiasm. Helen
could have imagined, and that angered her, something of irony in his
tone.

"Oh, there's no matter for thanks," he said. "The house was yours, will
be yours again. The least I can do, since you and de Vallorbes are good
enough to let me live in it meanwhile, is to beg you to make any use
you please of it. Indeed it is I, rather than you, who come uninvited
just now. I had not intended being back here for another month. But
there was a case