He came in as naturally as if the house were still inhabited, though he saw the emptiness of it all, and guessed the cause. But when he saw Helen, a flushed surprise beamed through his eyes and he gave her his hand.
“Helen!—why, this is unexpected—quite unusual, I must say.”
She did not speak, as she gave him her hand, but smiled sadly. It meant: “Mr. Travis will tell you all. I know nothing. It is all his planning.”
Clay sat down in an old chair by the fire and warmed his hands, looking thoughtfully at the two, now and then, and wonderingly. He was not surprised when Travis said:
“I sent for you hurriedly, as one who I knew was a friend of Miss Conway. A crisis has arisen in her affairs to-day in which it is necessary for her friends to act.”
“Why, yes, I suppose I can guess,” said Clay thoughtfully and watching Helen closely all the while as he glanced around the empty room. “I was only waiting. Why, you see—”
Helen flushed scarlet and looked appealingly at Travis. But he broke in on Clay without noticing her.
“Yes, I knew you were only waiting. I think I understand you, but you know the trouble with nearly every good intention is that it waits too long.”
Clay reddened.
Helen arose and, coming over, stood by Travis, her face pale, her eyes shining. “I beg—I entreat—please, say no more. Clay,” she said turning on him with flushed face, “I did not know you were coming. I did not know where you were. Like all the others, I supposed you too had—had deserted me.”