In London Helen Denby was living in a new world. Quick to realize the advantages that were now hers, she determined to make the most of them—especially for Betty. Always everything now centered around Betty.
In Mrs. Reynolds Helen had found a warm friend and sympathetic ally, one who, she knew, would keep quite to herself the story Helen had told her. Even Mr. Reynolds was not let into the inner secret of Helen's presence with them. To him she was a companion governess, a friend of the Thayers', to whom his wife had taken a great fancy—a most charming little woman, indeed, whom he himself liked very much.
Freed from the fear of meeting Burke Denby or any of his friends, Helen, for the first time since her flight from Dalton, felt that she was really safe, and that she could, with an undivided mind, devote her entire attention to her self-imposed task.
From London to Berlin, and from Berlin to Genoa, she went happily, as Mr. Reynolds's business called him. To Helen it made little difference where she was, so long as she could force every picture, statue, mountain, concert, book, or individual to pay toll to her insatiable hunger "to know"—that she might tell Betty.
Mrs. Reynolds, almost as eager and interested as Helen herself, conducted their daily lives with an eye always alert as to what would be best for Helen and Betty. Teachers for Gladys and Betty—were teachers for Helen, too; and carefully Mrs. Reynolds made it a point that her own social friends should also be Helen's—which Helen accepted with unruffled cheerfulness. Helen, indeed, had now almost reached the goal long ago set for her by Mrs. Thayer: it was very nearly a matter of supreme indifference to her whether she met people or not, so far as the idea of meeting them was concerned. There came a day, however, when, for a moment, Helen almost yielded to her old run-and-hide temptation.
They were back in London, and it was near the close of Helen's third year abroad.
"I met Mr. Donald Estey this morning," said Mrs. Reynolds at the luncheon table that noon. "I asked him to dine with us to-morrow night. He is here for the winter."
"So? Good! I shall be glad to see Estey," commented her husband.
Once Helen would have given a cry, dropped her fork with a clatter, or otherwise made her startled perturbation conspicuous to all. That only an almost imperceptible movement and a slight change of color resulted now showed something of what Helen Denby had learned during the last few years.
"You say Mr. Donald Estey will be—here, to-morrow?" she asked quietly.