The first result of the struggle she had made and the victory she had gained was apparent when, on her return home, she went to Marion's room. The generous heart could not rest without clearing itself at once of the least shadow of injustice,—and she had implied, if she had not expressed, a blame of Marion which she was noble enough to feel might be unjust. Hence that visit which so deeply touched the girl, whose own conscience failed to echo Helen's acquittal.
Breakfast passed very quietly. Mrs. Dalton saw that her daughter was making an heroic effort to appear as usual, and she seconded it as far as lay in her power, talking more than was her custom in order to allow Helen to be silent, and to prevent the boys from asking questions about events of the preceding afternoon. To make no change in her manner to Marion was more difficult; but, with the example that Helen set, she was able to accomplish even this; and finally the usual separation for the morning took place with great sense of relief to all concerned. Marion put on her hat and went out, ostensibly to keep an appointment with Mrs. Singleton, but really to be safely out of the way in case Rathborne should make his appearance.
Helen herself had some fear of this appearance, and she took refuge in her own chamber, dreading the necessary explanation to her mother, not so much on her own account as on account of the judgment upon Rathborne which she knew would follow. Tenderness does not die in an hour or a day; and although her resolve to put him out of her life was firm, she was not yet able to put him out of her heart, nor to think without shrinking of the severe condemnation which her mother would mete out to him. There was no need for haste in speaking; she might rest a little, and gather strength for the trial, knowing that Mrs. Dalton would make no effort to force her confidence.
So she was resting on the bed, where she had not slept at all the night before, when the door softly opened and Mrs. Dalton entered the room.
"Helen," she said, gently, "I am sorry to disturb you, but Paul Rathborne is downstairs and asks to see you. What shall I tell him?"
"Tell him that I cannot see him," answered Helen. "It is impossible! You must speak for me—you must make him understand that he is entirely free from any engagement to me, and I do not blame him for what he could not help. I suppose you have guessed that something is the matter," she added, wistfully. "It is only that I have found out he cares for Marion—not for me."
Mrs. Dalton put her arm around her with a touch full of sympathy, without speaking for a moment. Then she said: "My child, I always knew he was not worthy of you."
"But this does not prove him unworthy of me," replied Helen, in a tone sharp with pain. "It only proves that he was mistaken when he thought of me."
"Men of honor do not make such mistakes," said Mrs. Dalton.
"How could he help falling in love with Marion?" continued Helen. "She is so much more beautiful, so much more attractive than I am! And that he has done so, settles the doubt of his disinterestedness which you always entertained. Do him so much justice, mamma. You feared that he professed to care for me because I have a little money. But Marion has none."