“I might? How about you?”
“Perhaps we both might. So we won't take the risk. You may come and see me to-morrow evening and say good-by, if you like. But you mustn't stay long. It is my last night with father for some time and I mustn't cheat him out of it. Good night, Albert. I'm so glad our misunderstanding is over, aren't you?”
“Of course I am. But, Helen—”
“I must go in now. Good night.”
The reflections of Alberto Speranza during his walk back to the Snow place were varied but wonderful. He thought of Raymond's humiliation and gloried in it. He thought of Helen and rhapsodized. And if, occasionally, he thought also of the dance and of Madeline Fosdick, forgive him. He was barely twenty-one and the moon was shining.
CHAPTER IX
The good-by call the following evening was, to him at least, not very satisfactory. Helen was tired, having been busy all day with the final preparations for leaving, and old Mr. Kendall insisted on being present during the entire visit and in telling long and involved stories of the trip abroad he had made when a young man and the unfavorable opinion which he had then formed of Prussians as traveling companions. Albert's opinion of Prussians was at least as unfavorable as his own, but his complete and even eager agreement with each of the old gentleman's statements did not have the effect of choking the latter off, but rather seemed to act as encouragement for more. When ten o'clock came and it was time to go Albert felt as if he had been listening to a lecture on the Hohenzollerns. “Great Scott, Helen,” he whispered, as she came to the door with him, “I don't feel as if I had talked with you a minute. Why, I scarcely—”
But just here Mr. Kendall came hurrying from the sitting-room to tell of one incident which he had hitherto forgotten, and so even this brief interval of privacy was denied. But Albert made one more attempt.
“I'm going to run over to the station to-morrow morning to see you off,” he called from the gate. “Good night.”