“Thank you, dear friend,” whispered Helène with drooping lashes.
“And to-morrow, Miss Helène, is another summer’s day. Will you not give me a second opportunity to act as your escort? Let me take you to our home in Tarrytown. My mother will welcome you, and you and Ruth—do you remember my little sister?—you two can roam as you please in the park and woods. It promises to be a beautiful day. Will you come?”
“You are very kind, Mr. Morton. I don’t know what to say. I have thought of your sister with the pretty name, very often. Does she know of my existence?”
How utterly different is the trend of women’s minds from men’s, thought Morton. He had not dared to bare his soul even to Ruth, and yet Helène took it for granted that he had spoken of her, and she was, perhaps, speculating at this very moment, if his description of her had been favorable.
“I want you to be my surprise to them, Miss Helène, if you will. You have become so thoroughly Americanized that I doubt if my mother will guess at your identity, though she knows I met you in Europe. But Ruth knows nothing, and she will throw her slang at you as she would at any New York girl she knows. So permit me to introduce you merely as a friend without any further explanations.”
“Why, Mr. Morton, they will know immediately I am a foreigner—my first words will tell the tale—they always do. Still, I will accept your invitation gladly.”
“Thank you,” replied Morton simply.
“Won’t you tell me about your mother and sister?” Helène asked shyly.
Morton laughed; the question was a natural one for one girl to put to another, but to him, a man, it was a puzzling one to answer. However, he entered into the spirit of her curiosity and told her what he thought would interest her. Helène had become quite animated now, and Morton enjoyed keenly watching the sweet play of her features, the dainty gestures of her little hands, so slender and soft and dimpled, as he told her of his home life in his quiet unassuming manner. His eyes kept looking at the finger which he was hoping some day to adorn.
“Is it not getting late, Mr. Morton?” Helène’s voice broke in on his thoughts with a seeming suddenness that startled him. “Margy will be waiting for me, and I must not keep her up late. If I abuse my present privilege, she’ll not let me go another time. Margy is very strict, you know. Sometimes I think she is jealous. Oh, but we’ve been so happy together, and she’s been so good and so patient. I can never hope to repay her.”