"Mrs. Perkins, Miss Lawrence remains with me overnight. See that dinner is prepared for us."
"Yes, Miss."
"Wait, Perkins. I want you to send Virginie to me."
In a moment the French maid was knocking on the door.
"Virginie, preparez la chambre voisine de la mienne, et portez-y le sac de Mlle. Lawrence."
When the girls at length were seated in Miss Stuart's pretty boudoir, they fell into a long and pleasant chat, finding much to say to one another after several months' separation.
By and by Miss Stuart presented a programme for the evening, saying. "Now, Helen, you little puritan, don't dare to find fault or criticise. My cousin, Harry Stuart, is going to take us to the theater, and it will be perfectly charming. He is almost like a brother to me, and there could not be the slightest impropriety in it."
Helen did not demur then, but, after returning from the theater and in looking back over the evening, she felt some misgivings. "Harry" proved to be a gay, scatterbrained youth, more or less in love with his beautiful cousin. He stared a little curiously at Helen on being presented, and then devoted himself exclusively to Miss Stuart, whom he treated with a lack of deference, a familiarity, which Helen hotly resented. Miss Stuart, however, was apparently quite oblivious of it, and flirted with him openly, exchanging glances of amusement with him, as Helen's face grew graver and graver.
A chance remark of his, which unfortunately reached Helen's ears, did not tend to soften her judgment of him.
"Who is your little friend, coz? She is tremendously respectable, and doesn't approve of us at all."