"I don't suppose you have any spirits—whisky, for instance? I think a drink would do Miss Claybourne good after the shock she's had." I noticed Helen's eyes dance as I said this, and she leaned forward eagerly to hear the reply.
"Spirits!" gasped Mrs. Tyler. "You mean rum?"
"Well," I said, "rum will do, if it's all you have." Helen made a mysterious and unaccountable noise—something like a choke.
"Praise the Lord, there ain't no liquor ever passed my lips—let 'lone my threshold!" she ejaculated. "Henery" stuck his head in at the door: "I've got a little somethin' I keep for my backache up in the hayloft," he ventured timorously. "If Miss Helen needs a little for medicinal purposes, same as I do occasionally, she's welcome," and he disappeared rather hastily. "There goes an example of true courage," I thought, "for it's ten to one he's sacrificing the future as well as the present." The look on Mrs. Tyler's face was awe-inspiring; her lips closed in a firm, tight line and no sound came from them. Under all the circumstances, however, I didn't envy "Henery." Helen and I did not dare exchange glances; she hurriedly nibbled a biscuit, and I studied a cabinet full of polished sea-shells. Mrs. Tyler suddenly left the room like a shot from a gun. I turned and went to Helen. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me.
"You dear, dear Ted," she laughed. "I'm going to have such fun watching you put your foot in it all your life!"
"But—but—," I sputtered.
"Yes, darling, I know. You did it for me and with the best intentions. That will always be your reason, you delicious thing."
"You know—that was our first kiss," I said with an abrupt change of subject.
"Oh, Ted, and I had to kiss you first after all!"
"I seem to flub everything," I remarked, unaccountably nettled. Helen laughed: "If I didn't love you so, Ted, I'd shake you. There now! I've said 'I love you' first, too."