“Oh, of course!” he said, with a touch of pique.
“Still,” she persisted, “mistakes some times cost more than they are worth, and it is not safe to repeat them.”
To this he made no answer.
“So that you might, at any rate, leave that child alone.”
He shot out indignantly—“You always speak as if I were to blame!”
“Forgive me,” she said. “Of course it is unjust.” She suddenly added, “What nonsense we have talked! It is disappointing, when one really meant to be useful. I shall go back to the house and try some other way—perhaps copy out a recipe for beef-tea for Mrs Hilton.”
“Since when have you indulged in such high aspirations?” His tone was still moody.
“Oh, they awake, even in me, at times,” she returned lightly. “Don’t come with me.”
He lifted his hat stiffly, and Helen stood with a smile and watched him out of sight. Then she sat down on a mound of grass, and cried as if her heart would break.