“Like what? I like this.”
He looked at her; as any other man might—like those students who used to come so often, and who suddenly called no more. Helen had never seen that expression in his eyes. She dropped her own. She dug little wells in the fine, white sand with her sun-umbrella before she said,—
“I have to get the six o’clock train; you know I haven’t come to stay, yet.”
“But you are coming!” he exclaimed with irrepressible joyousness.
She made no answer, and Bayard’s sensitive color changed.
“Do I like what?” he repeated in a different tone.
“Heresy and martyrdom,” said Helen serenely.
“I regret nothing, if that is what you mean; no matter what it costs; no matter how it ends—no, not for an hour. I told the truth, and I took the consequences; that is all. How can a man regret standing by his best convictions?”
“He might regret the convictions,” suggested Helen.