"Eh!" said he, shaking his head. And the lines in the kindly old face seemed to deepen, but in a sort of grave tenderness. "Eh, so love has come to the dear lad at last! Ah! of course, the hundred other affairs! Yes, yes. But they were light. No seriousness in them. The ladies may have loved. He didn't very much. This time, I'm afraid——"
Baron de Vries paused as if he did not mean to finish his sentence, and Hartley said—
"You say 'afraid'! Why, afraid?"
The Belgian looked up at him reflectively.
"Did I say 'afraid'?" he asked. "Well—perhaps it was the word I wanted. I wonder if these two are fitted for each other. I am fond of them both. I think you know that, but—she's not very flexible, this child. And she hasn't much humour. I love her, but I know those things are true. I wonder if one ought to marry Ste. Marie without flexibility and without humour."
"If they love each other," said Richard Hartley, "I expect the other things don't count. Do they?"
Baron de Vries rose to his feet, for he saw that the Phidias lady was going.
"Perhaps not," said he; "I hope not. In any case, do your best for him with Helen. Make her comprehend if you can. I am afraid she is unhappy over the affair." He made his adieux and went away with the American lady, to that young person's obvious excitement. And after a moment the three ladies across the room departed also, Mrs. Benham explaining that she was taking her two friends up to her own sitting-room to show them something vaguely related to the heathen. So Hartley was left alone with Helen Benham.
It was not his way to beat about the bush, and he gave battle at once. He said, standing to say it more easily—
"You know why I came here to-day. It was the first chance I've had since that—unfortunate evening. I came on Ste. Marie's account."