“There is something I want to say,” she gasped, searching wildly for inspiration. “It has occurred to me that perhaps the reason you hesitated was my money. I will give it all away—to charity or my aunt. I will only keep a little, so as not to be a burden to you. You may think this a silly, Quixotic idea—made on the impulse of the moment—but indeed I would.”
“I am sure that you would. I had not thought of the money. I did not get that far.”
Helena pressed her hands against the door behind her. She felt an impulse to laugh hysterically. For the life of her she could not remember a detail that she had rehearsed. She felt as if on the edge of a farce-comedy. But she would not give up the game.
“I am so tired,” she said plaintively. “I have eaten nothing since I saw you, and I have thought and thought and thought until I am all worn out.”
He placed a chair at once.
“You poor little thing,” he said. “Let me go to the larder and see if I can’t find you something——”
“No; I don’t want anything.”
She sat down, holding the shawl closely about her. Clive returned to the mantel.
“My head ached so I had to take my hair down,” she said.
“I wonder what is going on in your head at the present moment.”