"Well, that's how it started, if you want to know! I was trying to cheer him up a little … and Wally thought he saw more than he did…."
For a feverish minute she resumed Delibes' dance, but couldn't finish it.
She rose, half stumbling, blinded by her tears and Mary comforted her.
"Now, go and get your bag, dear," she said at last, "and I'll go home with you, and stay all night if you like."
But Helen wouldn't have that.
"No," she said, "I'm going to stay here a few days. I told my maid where she could find me—but I made her promise not to tell Wally till morning—and I'm not going back till he comes for me."
"I wonder what he saw…" Mary kept thinking. "Poor Wally!" And then more gently, "Poor Helen! … It's just as I've always said."
Mary was a long time going to sleep that night, thinking of Helen, and
Wally and Burdon.
Yes, Helen was right about Burdon. Something was evidently worrying him. For the last few days she had noticed how irritable he was, how drawn he looked.
"I do believe he's in trouble of some sort," she sighed. "And he looks so reckless, too. I'm glad that Wally did speak to Helen. He isn't safe." And again the thought recurring, "I wonder what Wally saw…."
A sound from the lawn beneath her window stopped her. At first she thought she was dreaming—but no, it was a mandolin being played on muted strings. She stole to the window. In the shadow stood a figure and at the first subdued note of his song, Mary knew who it was.