"Yes, but I'm glad to be here again, so long as I needn't stay. I've heaps to tell you." She stretched herself, like a cat. "I knew there was fun in the world. I had faith, my dear, and I found it."
Helen was looking at her with her usual confusion of feelings: she wanted to shake off Miriam's complacence roughly, while she was fondly glad that she should have it, but this remark would not pass without a word, and Helen shook her head.
"No; you didn't find it. Uncle Alfred gave it to you—he and I."
"You? Oh—yes, I suppose you did. Well—thank you very much, and don't let us talk about it any more. You're like a drag-net, bringing up the unpleasant. Don't let us quarrel."
"Quarrel! I couldn't," Helen said simply.
"Are you so pleased to see me?"
Helen's reluctant smile expanded. "I suppose it's that."
"Aha! It's lovely to be me! People go down like ninepins! Why?" Piously, she appealed to Heaven. "Why?"
"They get up again, though," Helen said with a chuckle.
"For instance?" Miriam demanded truculently.