“Wait until after luncheon, John. Do you love her very much?” She rose, floundering again on the verge of tears. The news had almost overwhelmed the good lady; or was it jealous resentment or simply the fear of the change that it would mean for her?
Morton rose quickly and, laying his hands affectionately upon his mother’s shoulders said, with deep feeling: “Mother, I do. It is not a momentary fancy or infatuation. When you know Helène, you will understand that it was not her beauty only but her golden heart that drew me to her. Mother, I feel blessed beyond all men that this heart has been placed in my keeping.”
“Oh, John—I do hope it’s as you say. You must forgive me—I am a little unnerved. If Comtesse Rondell should come down before I return—will you excuse me to her, John? I shall be back shortly.”
Luncheon proved a very simple affair and the conversation which at the beginning had rested upon Ruth’s shoulders soon became general and animated. Helène, who sat at Mrs. Morton’s left, had lost her shyness and entered into the spirit of the occasion with the tactful modesty and grace of manners which never yet had failed to charm. Mrs. Morton’s formal politeness gradually melted into admiration. She was evidently charmed with the girl. John observed with lightened heart the approving eye and the pleased expression on his mother’s face.
On rising from the table Mrs. Morton pleaded some duty and left the young people to themselves on the porch. At once Ruth rose and took her new friend by the arm. “Let’s leave John to his cigar, Helène (it had been Helène after the first, of course), I want to show you my patch of woods if you don’t mind the hot sun. Mother and John always talk shop at this hour—even on a Sunday, I believe. Come, dear.”
John caught Helène’s eye and saw the look of relief and longing for a respite to be enjoyed with her girl friend, and prudently resigned himself.
It was not long before his mother came to him, smiling happily, her cheeks faintly flushed. “The ring your father gave me upon our engagement, John,” she whispered with a catch in her voice, handing him a brilliant stone. And John knew all was well—Helène had won!
Ruth’s chatter became audible from the stairway, the clatter of youthful feet resounded from the hall, and the two girls entered hand in hand. Ruth looked first at John, then at her mother, and lastly at Helène, who had remained somewhat in the rear. Drawing the hand she held towards her, she encircled her friend’s waist with the other, and curtesying in mock reverence, and with a well-assumed dignity, said: “I have the honor to present to you both the Comtesse Helène Rondell—my darling sister.” Then, running up to her brother she threw her arms around him and gave him a resounding kiss. “My congratulations, brother!”
Of course, after this, all ceremony had to be foregone. But it was Mrs. Morton’s affectionate embrace of Helène which sealed the welcome. It brought a great happiness to Ruth and John and a transcendent light into Helène’s girlish face.
At dinner John announced that Helène would return to New York that night and that he would escort her home. It was, indeed, a happy meal for these four—now reunited in love.