did not need to be careful, it was an
unqualified gift she had to make him. 'I love you,' she said. 'I will
make it your home.'

And again Gerald was touched and a little confused. He kissed her hand
and then, her eyes of mute avowal drawing him, he leaned to her and
kissed her cheek. He felt it difficult to answer such a speech, and all
that he found to say at last was, 'You will make me romantic, dear
Althea.'

That evening he sought Helen out again; but he need not have come with
his news, for it was none. Althea's blissful preoccupation and his
gaiety had all the evening proclaimed the happy event. But he had to
talk to Helen, and finding her on the terrace, he drew her hand through
his arm and paced to and fro with her. She was silent, and, suddenly and
oddly, he found it difficult to say anything. 'Well,' he ventured at
last.

'Well,' Helen echoed in the darkness.

'It's all settled,' said Gerald.

'Yes,' said Helen.

'And I'm very happy.'

'I am so glad.'

'And she is really a great dear. Anything more generously sweet I've
never encountered.'

'I'm so glad,' Helen repeated.

There seemed little more to say, but, before they went in, he squeezed
her hand and added: 'If it hadn't been for you, I'd never have met her.
Dear Helen, I have to thank you for my good fortune. I've always had to
thank you for the nice things that have happened to me.'

But to this Helen demurred, though smiling apparently, as she answered,
going in, 'Oh no, I don't think you have this to thank me for.'

After they had gone upstairs, Althea came to Helen's room, and putting
her arms around her she hid her face on her shoulder. She was too happy
to feel any sense of shyness. It was Helen who was shy. So shy that the
tears rose to her eyes as she stood there, embraced. And, strangely, she
felt, with all her disquiet at being so held by Althea, that the tears
were not only for shyness, but for her friend. Althea's happiness
touched her. It seemed greater than her situation warranted. Helen could
not see the situation as rapturous. It was not such a tempered, such a
reasonable joy that she could have accepted, had it been her part to
accept or to decline. And, held by Althea, hot, shrinking, sorry, she
was aware of another anger against Gerald.

'My dear Althea, I know. I do so heartily congratulate you and Gerald,'
she said.

'He told you, dear Helen?'

'Yes, he told me, but of course I saw.'

'I feel now as if you wer