Her eyes which had been stonily dull gave their first signal. It was smiling mischief, which developed into one of her laughs.
"It was such a surprise that I must have looked as if I were seeing ghosts," she said. "It's a tribute to Jacqueline's omelets. You see, I relied on them to keep the Germans from looting the house. I meant to meet the invader with an omelet instead of an olive branch."
She carried the part off well once she was started, leaving him puzzled and wishing that she would continue her mood—any mood that livened her features.
"Oh, I didn't think I could stand at the door and defy the German hosts!" he explained. "Only, being a man, well—I——"
"You were going to play the masculine part of protector. I do feel more safe. Any woman must, being a woman and subject to conventional sex inheritances"—this with a trifle of condescension, which was shattered by utter astonishment as Henriette appeared.
"I did not mean to make you jump out of your shoes," said Henriette.
"Mother was aboard the train all right?" Helen asked.
"Yes; quite."
"Did she want you to come back, too?"
"No. What kind of a sister did you think I was, you brave, foolish Helen? Did you think I would go to Paris and leave you here?"