Rigidly erect, he paused in front of Helen, his face pale and set and harsh, and looked squarely into her face. He turned a second to David; his gray eyes were like knives of gray steel. Then his gaze came back to Helen.
"What's this mean?" his quiet voice grated out.
Helen's face was like paper and her eyes, held straight into his, had a fixed, wild stare. She gathered her strength with a supreme effort.
"I'm going to marry him," she said.
For a moment he merely stared at her. Then he reached out a hand that trembled, caught her arm and shook her lightly.
"Helen?" he cried. "Helen?"
"I'm going to marry him," she repeated, with a little gasp.
"You're—really—in—your—senses?"
"I am."
He loosed his hold, and studied her strained face. "You are!" he whispered, in low consternation.