"Helen dear," broke in Braine, with a sudden earnestness of protest in his tone, "you know, do you not—"
"Certainly I know, and I perfectly approve that and everything else you do, Ed. Forgive me. I was only teasing."
At this point there was a brief wait in the dialogue. Then Helen, sitting down on the floor again, resumed in an earnest tone, with her large eyes looking fixedly at her lover:
"You must never misunderstand me, Ed. You know I am devoted to your interests only. I would not let you spend an hour that you cannot spare from your work, in gratifying me. I was only jesting, dear. You understand me, don't you?"
If the words did not make the matter entirely clear to Braine's intelligence they were helped a good deal by the "eloquent language of signs," and the whole matter was rapidly becoming perfectly lucid, when a knock at the door startled the pair, and caused Helen to withdraw suddenly to a particularly prim and painful Queen Elizabeth chair on the other side of the room. By the time she was uncomfortably seated, the knock was repeated, and it dawned upon her mind that some one should open the door. She did this herself, as on the whole, best.
"It's Mikey, with a note for me," said Braine; "I told Mose Harbell to send him."
Helen brought in the note, and Braine quietly opened and read it.
"Please tell Mikey to wait for an answer," he said. "May I have some paper?"
Helen supplied him, and he wrote. When the messenger was gone, he turned and said:
"Come here, Helen dear. Kneel down here by my chair. I want to talk to you."