"Yes," she answered presently. "But no one else is concerned in this case."
"I will leave your friends out of the question," said Wimpole. "Do you think it will do Archie any good to live under the same roof with his father?"
Helen started perceptibly.
"Oh, why did you say that!" she exclaimed in a low voice, and as she leaned over the window-sill again she clasped her hands together in a sort of despairing way. "Why did you say that!" she repeated.
Wimpole was silent, for he had not at first realized that he had found a very strong argument. As yet, being human, she had thought only of herself, in the first hours of her trouble. He had recalled all her past terrors for her unfortunate son, and the memory of all she had done to keep him out of his father's way in old days. He had been a mere boy, then, and it had been just possible, because his half-developed mind was not suspicious. Now that he was grown up, it would be another matter. The prospect was hideous enough, if Harmon should take a fancy to the young man, and make him his companion, and then fall back into his old ways.
"Why did you say it? Why did you make me think of that?" Helen asked the questions almost piteously. "I should have to send Archie away--somewhere, where he would be safe."
"How could he be safe without you?" The argument was pitilessly just.
But, after all, her life and happiness were at stake. Wimpole saw right in everything that could withhold her from the step to which she had evidently made up her mind.
"And if I refuse to go back to my husband, what will become of him?" she asked, still clasping her hands hard together.
"He could be properly taken care of," suggested Wimpole.