"Oh, thank you, thank you!" breathed Helen. "But, remember, please, I'm not Mrs. Denby. I'm Mrs. Darling—my mother's maiden name," she begged in a panic, as the doctor touched the bell.
True to his promise, Frank Gleason had a plan, of a sort, ready by morning. He told it at the breakfast table.
"I'm going to take you to my sister, provided, of course, that you agree," he announced. "Five minutes' talk with her on this matter will be worth five years' with me. I shouldn't wonder if she kept you herself,—for a time, with her. And you couldn't be in a better place. Perhaps you'll be willing to help her with the children—and she'll be glad of that, I know."
"But—my money—can't I pay—money?" faltered Helen.
He shook his head.
"Not if we can help it. Your money you'll need later for Miss Dorothy—unless you are willing to make yourself known to your husband sooner than you seem now to be willing to. We'll invest it in something safe and solid, and it'll bring you in a few hundred a year. You'll have that to spend; and that will go quite a way—under some circumstances."
"But I—I want to—to learn things, you know," stammered Helen; "how to be—be—"
"You'll learn—lots of things, if you live with my sister," remarked the doctor significantly.
"Oh!" smiled Helen, with a sigh of relief and content.