"And Mr. Dexter may."
"I am always glad to see Mr. Dexter," said Aunt Margaretta.
Mr. Heathcote did not come; Mr. Dexter did. But Anne was driving with Miss Teller, and missed the visit.
"A remarkable man," said the elder lady, as they sat at the dinner table in the soft radiance of wax lights.
"You mean Mr. Blum?" said Helen. "This straw-colored jelly exactly matches me, Anne."
"I mean Mr. Dexter," said Miss Teller, nodding her head impressively. "Sent through college by the bounty of a relative (who died immediately afterward, in the most reprehensible way, leaving him absolutely nothing), Gregory Dexter, at thirty-eight, is to-day a man of modern and distinct importance. Handsome—you do not contradict me there, Helen?"
"No, aunt."
"Handsome," repeated Miss Teller, triumphantly, "successful, moral, kind-hearted, and rich—what would you have more? I ask you, Miss Douglas, what would you have more?"
"Nothing," said Helen. "Anne has confided to me—nothing. Long live Gregory Dexter! And I feel sure, too, that he will outlive us all. I shall go first. You will see. I always wanted to be first in everything—even the grave."
"My dear!" said Miss Margaretta.