“For that is all we can do.”
It seemed so. Most ghastly of all was Helen’s common sense: Monica had been extraordinarily good for her.
“I am glad to have seen you and the things.” She looked at the bookcase lovingly, as if she was saying farewell to the past.
Margaret unbolted the door. She remarked: “The car has gone, and here’s your cab.”
She led the way to it, glancing at the leaves and the sky. The spring had never seemed more beautiful. The driver, who was leaning on the gate, called out, “Please, lady, a message,” and handed her Henry’s visiting-card through the bars.
“How did this come?” she asked.
Crane had returned with it almost at once.
She read the card with annoyance. It was covered with instructions in domestic French. When she and her sister had talked she was to come back for the night to Dolly’s. “Il faut dormir sur ce sujet.” While Helen was to be found “une comfortable chambre à l’hôtel.” The final sentence displeased her greatly until she remembered that the Charles’ had only one spare room, and so could not invite a third guest.
“Henry would have done what he could,” she interpreted.
Helen had not followed her into the garden. The door once open, she lost her inclination to fly. She remained in the hall, going from bookcase to table. She grew more like the old Helen, irresponsible and charming.