“He sat on that young woman from the Wellington Theater very severely, I assure you. From her manner we all imagined she had some sort of claim on him; but if she was laboring under any such delusion he cured her. He said—Are you really strong enough to stand a shock?”
“Twenty shocks. I can’t think how I could have been so silly——”
“Nerves, my dear. We all have ’em. Sometimes, if I didn’t smoke I should scream. No woman really likes to see her husband flirting openly with her friends. I’m no saint; but my wickedness is defensive. Now, are you ready?”
“Quite ready.”
“Mr. Bower told us, tout le monde, you know, that he meant to marry you.”
“Oh!” said Helen.
During an appreciable pause neither woman spoke. Helen was not sure whether she wanted to laugh or be angry. Mrs. de la Vere eyed her curiously. The girl’s face was yet white and drawn. It was impossible to guess how the great news affected her. The de la Veres were poor on two thousand a year. What did it feel like to be the prospective bride of a millionaire, especially when you were—what was it?—secretary to a man who collected beetles!
“Did Mr. Bower assign any reason for making that remarkable statement?” said Helen at last.
“He explained that the fact—I suppose it is a fact—would safeguard you from the malice of an ex-coryphée. Indeed, he put it more brutally. He spoke of the ‘slanderous malice of an ex-chorus girl.’ The English term sounds a trifle harsher than the French, don’t you think?”