With no thought of the crisis in his life that awaited him he walked briskly toward St. Gertrude’s, thinking of the girl he was going to meet. Helen Baldwin had come to mean much to him and her friendship was dear. He had idealized her and woven boyish dreams about her, although he never had considered seriously any plan for the future. She was the first girl he ever had known as a friend and the attitude of appealing helplessness she assumed toward him excited his imagination. The fact, too, that she constantly claimed to have been neglected or ill-treated by the Baldwins aroused his sympathy. He did not stop to think that his dislike for the Baldwins blinded him, nor did he imagine that, perhaps, the girl was using his prejudice against the Baldwins for her own ends.
He entered the reception room at St. Gertrude’s, and as the maid closed the door, Helen Baldwin rose from her chair. He stepped forward gladly, both hands outstretched.
“Helen!” he exclaimed.
His tone changed suddenly.
“Helen,” he repeated, this time anxiously, “what has happened? What have they been doing?”
“Larry! Larry!” she sobbed, clinging to him. “Take me away from this place, take me away from them all!”
The tears and her pathetic appeal aroused in him the man’s sense of protectorship. Instinctively his arm slipped around her waist and he strove to comfort her.
“Tell me about it, Helen,” he urged tenderly. “What is it? Has Harry been annoying you again?”
“Oh, it is all of them,” she wailed. “They treat me terribly! I cannot stand it. You must take me away.”
“What have they been doing?” he demanded, trembling with indignation. “Tell me.”