she saw herself unable to save him. It would not save him
to tell him again that she would never marry Gerald. Franklin knew, too
clearly for any evasion, that Althea's was the desperate case, the case
for succour. She, Helen, could be thrown over--for they couldn't evade
that aspect--and suffer never a scratch; but for Althea to throw over
Gerald meant that in doing it she must tear her heart to pieces.

And she could not save Franklin by telling him that she had divined his
love for her; that would give him all the more reason for ridding her of
a husband who hadn't kept to the spirit of their contract. No, the only
way to have saved him would have been to love him and to make him know
and feel it; and this was the only thing she could not do for Franklin.

She took refuge in her nearest feeling, that of scorn for Gerald. 'It's
unforgivable of Gerald,' she said.

Franklin's eyes--they had a deepened, ravaged look, but they were still
calm--probed hers, all their intentness now for her. 'Why, no,' he said,
after a moment, 'I don't see that.'

Helen, turning away, had dropped into her chair, leaning her forehead on
her hand. 'I shall never forgive him,' she said.

Franklin, on the other side of the fire, stood thinking, thinking so
hard that he was not allowing himself to feel. He was thinking so hard
of Helen that he was unconscious how the question he now asked might
affect himself. 'You do love him, Helen? It's him you've always loved?'

'Always,' she said.

'And he's found it out--only to-day.'

'He didn't find it out; I told him. He came to reproach me for my
engagement.'

Franklin turned it over. 'But what he has found out, then, is that he
loves you.'

'So he imagines. It's not a valuable gift, as you see, Gerald's love.'

Again Franklin paused and she knew that, for her sake, he was weighing
the value of Gerald's love. And he found in answer to what she said his
former words: 'Why, no, I don't see that,' he said.

'I'm afraid it's all I do see,' Helen replied.

He looked down upon her and after a silence he asked: 'May I say
something?'

She nodded, resting her face in her hands.

'You're wrong, you know,' said Franklin. 'Not wrong in feeling this way
now; I don't believe you can help that; but in deciding to go on feeling
it. You mustn't talk about final decisions.'

'But they are made.'

'They can't be made in life. Life unmakes them, I mean, unless you set
yourself against it and ruin th