It was a pretty spot, and Helène felt no regret that she had come. Van Dusen drew out his handkerchief, spread it carefully over the rock and invited his companion to sit down. “You must let me see how a white maiden would appear upon the throne of her ancient copper-colored sister.”
Helène smilingly obeyed, and the young man stepped back in mock criticism, nodding approval.
“Miss Barton, tradition tells that this Indian maiden outrivalled in beauty all the other girls of her age and place. But I think—there never sat upon this rock a more beautiful girl than she who is sitting there now.”
Helène rose. The very thing she had dreaded was going to happen. She had been very foolish to come to this place.
“Miss Barton, please sit down.”
Hardly knowing what she was doing, Helène resumed her seat, helplessly.
Van Dusen came close up to her, the smile gone from his face, and in its place an expression of grim determination.
“Miss Barton, ever since I first met you I have had but one thought—to win you if I could. I know you have given me no encouragement; indeed, I believe you have avoided me. Yet, I still beg of you to permit me to plead my cause.”
Helène, with downcast eyes, sat patiently, her hands folded, a troubled expression on her face.
“I don’t amount to much, I know, but I am a pretty clean fellow and I am awfully fond of you. Won’t you give me a chance to show you how in earnest I am? To see more of you? There isn’t another girl like you in this world. I know there are lots of fellows much better than I, but—do give me a chance!”