The question was put in precisely the same tone and manner that Helen would have used yesterday, and Mrs. Nixon admired her poise.
“Thank you. I am going down into the office. I shall be glad to see the geyser with you when the time comes.”
Helen Maynard turned away, and a cynical little smile grew on her lips. Mrs. Nixon had tried nobly to keep her usual manner unchanged; but despite herself there was a warmth there unknown before, and Helen was alert to perceive it.
The girl hummed an air from “Faust” as she ran down the stairs of the gigantic log-cabin. It was the “Calf of Gold” that she sang.
She was, as Mr. Derwent had said, a very level-headed young woman, and under the present circumstances kept her joyous excitement under control; but she was alive in every fibre to the change in her life which these six figures to her credit were about to make.
She had faced all that failure would mean; faced the prospect of a narrow life on the farm, or a struggling life in the city. In either case a life of early-to-bed and early-to-rise routine, against which all her tastes rebelled.
With the relaxation from strain had come a certain intoxication; but pride kept the girl externally calm. The patronizing Mrs. Bruce would scrutinize her now through those eye-glasses. She should never have a chance to say, “Set a beggar on horseback!” Irving Bruce would, perhaps, become aware of her existence. She exulted in the steadiness with which she had held Robert Nixon at a distance with his amiable raillery. She had done this from politic motives, knowing that if she were to remain in Mrs. Nixon’s good graces, only so could it be accomplished; but now it increased her satisfaction in the consideration of the subtle change in that lady’s manner toward her.
What a gulf now between herself and her acquaintance of Lambeth days! Mr. Derwent’s interest in Rosalie had merely served to get her into trouble.
Years ago on the farm Miss Maynard’s grandmother had said to her husband:—