'Of course I'm not going to
pretend anything. You know that I love Helen and that I believe she
loves me, and that for that reason I've a right to seem silly and
fatuous and do my best to get her. I quite see what you must both of you
have thought of me yesterday. I quite see that she couldn't stand my
blindness--to all you meant and felt, you know, and then my imagining
that everything could be patched up between her and me. She wants me to
feel my folly to the full, and no wonder. But that sort of bitterness
would have to go down where people love--wouldn't it? it's something
that can be got over. But that's what I want to ask you; perhaps I'm
more of a fool than I yet know; perhaps what her aunt tells me is true;
perhaps I've wrecked Helen as well as wrecked you. It's a very queer
question to ask--and you must forgive me--no one can answer it but you,
except Helen, and Helen won't see me. Do you really think I have wrecked
her?'

Everybody seemed to be asking this question of poor Franklin. He gave it
his attention in this, its new application, and before answering, he
asked:

'What's happened since I saw you?'

Gerald informed him of the events of the morning.

'I suppose,' said Franklin, reflecting, 'that you shouldn't have gone so
soon. You ought to have given her more time to adjust herself. It looked
a little too sure, didn't it? as if you felt that now that you'd settled
matters satisfactorily you could come and claim her.'

'I know now what it looked like,' said Gerald; 'but, you see, I didn't
know this morning. And I was sure, I am sure,' he said, fixing his
charming eyes sadly and candidly upon Franklin, 'that Helen and I belong
to one another.'

Franklin continued to reflect. 'Well, yes, I understand that,' he said.
'But how can you make her feel it? Why weren't you sure long ago?'

'Oh, you ask me again why I was a fool,' said Gerald gloomily, 'and I
can only reply that Helen was too clever. After all, falling in love is
suddenly seeing something and wanting something, isn't it? Well, Helen
never let me see and never let me want.'

'Yes, that's just the trouble. She's let you see, so that you do want,
now. But that can't be very satisfactory to her, can it?' said Franklin,
with all his impartiality.

'Of course it can't!' said Gerald, with further gloom. 'And don't,
please, imagine that I'm idiotic enough to think myself satisfactory. My
only point is that I belong to her, unsatisfactory as I a