“I think I can fully appreciate the Frau Professor’s motives,” he said, “the poor woman, worried and harassed by cares, had become soured by her life. Many other women would have been only too glad to avail themselves of your services; but you know, Miss Helène, Germany demands diplomas and references more than she does ability. But go on with your tale.”
Helène then told of her meeting with Margaret Fisher and told it so enthusiastically that she forgot the excellent food before her. Then came the voyage to America and her adventures in New York. When she had finished, she looked at Morton, searching his face for a sign of interest or reproach; but what she saw there made her cast her eyes down quickly.
“Do you not think I did right, Mr. Morton, in coming to America?” she asked, playing with the ice before her, “or did I act too hastily?” There was a pleading note in her voice. She had not intended to say the words, but her confusion consequent on seeing the expression in Morton’s face threw her back on an instinct which women possess and which they exercise in self-protection, the instinct which appeals to the man and acknowledges his superiority.
Morton did not reply at once, but busied himself slowly pouring out the coffee—the one menial office a man permits himself at a dinner-table—and took the time thus granted him to reflect on what he should say. This was the point which he had been hoping to reach in order to discover her real motives.
“Under the circumstances, Miss Helène,” he said, “I think I would have acted as you did. But why the secrecy towards Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, both of whom had become greatly attached to you? And why did you not let me know? Surely we had done nothing to deserve your displeasure! Ah, Miss Helène, how I searched for you and scoured the most unlikely places in my efforts to find you! Why did you do it?”
Morton’s face expressed his grievance and he could not repress a slight tremor in his voice.
Helène had become white at his words of reproach. She struggled with herself to regain composure and find a fitting answer. About them everything had become suddenly quiet and she felt as if everybody in the room were looking at them. For an instant she gave a frightened glance around to see if her feelings had been justified; but she found the same people there, all absolutely unconscious of her. Immediately she realized that the place was her best protection. Alone with him she would have confessed herself—here, in the crowd, she could tell him only what she judged proper.
“Do you remember, Mr. Morton, that we had agreed to wait until the autumn? To-night is still summer—my dress and the lovely violets bear witness to that. Why should we not enjoy the season while it is still with us? This is my first dinner en fête—will you not allow me to taste its pleasure to the full without scolding me? If I have been naughty, be kind to-night, mon chevalier.”
She breathed the last two words and looked at him pleadingly, her lips tremulous, the blue eyes shining. Without saying a word, Morton bent over and kissed the hand on the table.
“My dear child,” his voice was husky with emotion, “I am a brute. Of course, it shall be as you say. And, after all, what does anything matter? You are here, safe and well, and I—I am fortune’s favorite in the privilege you have extended to me this evening. To-night, as you have said, is still summer. I shall match the sunshine in your eyes with the warm friendship in my heart.”