nd found it hard
to understand why Althea had turned from Gerald Digby to him. Franklin's
millions didn't count for much with Miss Robinson, nor could she suspect
them of counting for anything, where marriage was concerned, with her
friend. She had not, indeed, a high opinion of the millionaire type of
her compatriots. Her standards were birth and fashion, and poor Franklin
could not be said to embody either of these claims. His mitigating
qualities could hardly shine for Miss Robinson, who, accustomed to
continually seeing and frequently evading the drab, dry, utilitarian
species of her country-people, could not be expected to find in him the
flavour of oddity and significance that his English acquaintance prized.
Franklin didn't make any effort to place himself more favourably. He was
very gentle and very attentive, and he followed all Althea's directions
as to clothes and behaviour with careful literalness; but even barbered
and tailored by the best that London had to offer, he seemed to sink
inevitably into the discreetly effaced position that the American
husband so often assumes behind his more brilliant mate, and Althea
might have been more aware of this had she not been so sunken in an
encompassing consciousness of her own obliteration. She felt herself
nearer Franklin there, and the sense of relief and safety came most to
her when she could feel herself near Franklin. It didn't disturb her,
standing by him in the background, that Miss Robinson should not
appreciate him. After all, deeper than anything, was the knowledge that
Helen had appreciated him. Recede as far as he would from the gross
foreground places, Helen's choice of him, Helen's love--for after a
fashion, Helen must have loved him--gave him a final and unquestionable
value. It was in this assurance of Helen's choice that she found a
refuge when questionings and wonders came to drag her down to suffering
again. There were many things that menaced the lull of safety, things
she could not bear yet to look at. The sense of her own abandonment to
weak and disingenuous impulses was one; another shadowed her unstable
peace more darkly. Had Helen really minded losing Franklin--apart from
his money? What had his value really been to her? What was she feeling
and doing now? What was Gerald doing and feeling, and what did they both
think or suspect of her? The answer to some of these questionings came
to her from an unsuspected quarter. It was on a morning of ch