care might be necessary if she were
to skate safely away. 'Don't have that in the least on your mind, it was
what you always disapproved of, you know, an arrangement of convenience.
Franklin and I both understood perfectly. You know how mercenary I
am--though I told you, I remember, that I couldn't think of marrying
anybody I didn't like. I liked Franklin, more than I can say; but it was
never a question of love.'

In Althea's ears, also, the ice seemed now to crack ominously. 'You
mean,' she said, 'that you wouldn't have thought of marrying Franklin if
it hadn't been for his money?'

There was nothing for Helen but to skate straight ahead. 'No, I don't
suppose I should.'

'But you had become the greatest friends.'

She was aware that she must seem to be trying, strangely, incredibly, to
prove to Helen that she had been in love with Franklin; to prove to her
that she had no right not to resent anything; no right to find
forgiveness so easy. But there was no time now to stop.

'Of course we became the greatest friends,' Helen said, and it was as
if with relief for the outlet. She was bewildered, and did not know
where they were going. 'I don't need to tell you what I think of
Franklin. He is the dearest and best of men, and you are the luckiest of
women to have won him.'

'Ah,' uncontrollably Althea rose to her feet with almost the cry, 'I
see; you think me lucky to have won a man who, in himself, without
money, wasn't good enough for you. Thank you.'

For a long moment--and in it they both recognised that the crash had
come, and that they were struggling in dark, cold water--Helen was
silent. She kept her eyes on Althea and she did not move. Then, while
she still looked steadily upon her, a slow colour rose in her cheeks. It
was helplessly, burningly, that she blushed, and Althea saw that she
blushed as much for anger as for shame, and that the shame was for her.

She did not need Helen's blush to show her what she had done, what
desecration she had wrought. Her own blood beat upwards in hot surges
and tears rushed into her eyes. She covered her face with her hands and
dropped again into her chair, sobbing.

Helen did not help her out. She got up and went to the mantelpiece and
looked down at the fire for some moments. And at last she spoke, 'I
didn't mean that either. I think that Franklin is too good for either of
us.'

'Good!' wept Althea. 'He is an angel. Do you suppose I don't see that?
But why should