"Really, one of us ought to stay and look after the things!" Helen urged. "Please!"
"Very well. Do, my dear!" her mother agreed.
She breathed a sigh of relief, and Helen drew a deep breath which filled the depths of her eyes with the triumph of freedom from the memory of the scene under the tree and of more things than her mind could catalogue. Even Madame Ribot was susceptible to the glory of those eyes. It occurred to her that Helen did have moments when she was not plain.
"Thank you, mother!" she said. "I—I——" and she caught her mother's hands in hers and kissed her on the forehead. "And not a word to anybody!"
The desire for movement which always came to her when she was happy called for the open. She did not know where she should go, but somewhere out into the night under the stars, in sight of the gun-flashes. Below, she found Phil and Jacqueline gathering bric-à-brac and china and wrapping it in papers and putting it in a chest.
"You're through packing?" Phil asked.
"Quite ready," said Helen. He was the one person she did not want to meet.
"Then sleep for you! No telling whether you'll get any to-morrow."
"I could not—not to-night!" The joy of her decision still remained in her eyes and her exclamation sounded a vitality that seemed to live on itself.
"In that case, Jacqueline and I will welcome an assistant," said he.