IV
That night, sitting by the fire before bedtime, Helen said: "Was Clare here a long time before I came in?"
Speed answered: "Not very long. She came while I was having three Juniors to tea, and they stayed until after five.... After they'd gone she told me about her holiday in France."
"She's been bargaining over her father's books in Paris, so she says."
"Well, not exactly that. You see, Mr. Harrington's publishers never arranged for his books to be translated, so she bought the rights off them so as to be able to arrange it herself."
"I think it's rather mean to go haggling about that sort of thing after the man's dead, don't you? After all, if he'd wanted them to be translated, surely he'd have done it himself while he was alive—don't you think so? Clare seems to be out to make as much money as she can without any thought about what would have been her father's wishes."
"I confess," replied Speed, slowly, "that it never struck me in that light. Harrington had about as much business in him as a two-year-old, and if he let himself be swindled right and left, surely that's no reason why his daughter should continue in the same way. Besides, she hasn't much money and it couldn't have been her father's wish that she should neglect chances of getting some."
"She has the shop."
"It can't be very profitable."
"I daresay it won't allow her to take holidays abroad, but that's not to say it won't give her a decent living."
"Of course," said Speed, mildly, "I really don't know anything about her private affairs. You may be right in everything you say.... It's nearly eleven. Shall we go to bed?"
"Soon," she said, broodingly, gazing into the fire. She was silent for a moment and then said, slowly and deliberately: "Kenneth."
"Yes, Helen?"
"Do you know—I—I—I don't think I—I quite like Clare—as much as I used to."
"You don't, Helen? Why not?"
"I don't know why not. But it's true.... She—she makes me feel frightened—somehow. I hope she doesn't come here often. I—I don't think I shall ask her to. Do you—do you mind?"
"Mind, Helen? Why should I mind? If she frightens you she certainly shan't come again." He added, with a fierceness which, somehow, did not strike him as absurd: "I won't let her. Helen—dear Helen, you're unhappy about something—tell me all about it!"
She cried vehemently: "Nothing—nothing—nothing!—Kenneth, I want to learn things—will you teach me?—I'm a ridiculously ignorant person, Kenneth, and some day I shall make you feel ashamed of me if I don't learn a few things more. Will you teach me?"
"My darling. I'll teach you everything in the world. What shall we begin with?"
"Geography. I was looking through some of the exercise-books you had to mark. Do you know, I don't know anything about exports and imports?"
"Neither did I until I had them to teach."
"And you'll teach me?"
"Yes. I'll teach you anything you want to learn. But I don't think we'll have our first lesson until to-morrow. Bedtime now, Helen."
She flung her arms round his neck passionately, offered her lips to his almost with abandonment, and cried, in the low, thrilling voice that seemed so full of unspoken dreads and secrecies: "Oh, Kenneth—Kenneth—you do love me, don't you? You aren't tired of me? You aren't even a little bit dissatisfied, are you?"
He took her in his arms and kissed her more passionately than he had ever done before. It seemed to him then that he did love her, more deeply than anybody had loved anybody else since the world began, and that, so far from his being the least bit dissatisfied with her, she was still guiding him into fresh avenues of unexplored delight. She was the loveliest and most delicate thing in the world.