She came out, then, like a young Aurora riding the storm.
"You're to go right back to your work," she said, and in a gentler voice,
"Wally, can I speak to you, please?"
He followed her into the house and when he came out alone ten minutes later, he drew a deep sigh and sat down again by Helen, a picture of utter dejection.
"Never mind, Wally," she said, and patted his arm.
"I can't make her out at times," he sighed.
"No, and nobody else," she whispered.
"What do you think, Helen?" he asked. "Don't you think that love is the greatest thing in life?"
"Why, of course it is," she whispered, and patted his arm again.
CHAPTER XXIII
In spite of her brave words the day before, when Mary left the house for the office in the morning, a feeling of uncertainty and regret weighed upon her, and made her pensive. More than once she cast a backward look at the things she was leaving behind—love, the joys of youth, the pleasure places of the world to see, romance, heart's ease, and "skies for ever blue."