“I have not learned—yet.”
“Then this vivacity is a cloak for the pangs of remorse, is it?” and Helwyze laughed incredulously.
“No: it is the satisfaction I already feel in the atonement I mean to make. I have a grand idea. I, too, shall work, and give Gladys reason to be proud of me, if nothing more.”
Something of her own energy was in his mien, and it became him. But Helwyze quenched the noble ardor by saying, coldly,—
“I see: it is the old passion under a new name. May your virtuous aspirations be blest!”
IX.
Helwyze was right, and Canaris found that his sudden marriage did stimulate public interest wonderfully. There had always been something mysterious about this brilliant young man and his relations with his patron; who was as silent as the Sphinx regarding his past, and tantalizingly enigmatical about his plans and purposes for the future. The wildest speculations were indulged in: many believed them to be father and son; others searched vainly for the true motive of this charitable caprice; and every one waited with curiosity to see the end of it. All of which much amused Helwyze, who cared nothing for the world’s opinion, and found his sense of humor tickled by the ludicrous idea of himself in the new rôle of benefactor.
The romance seemed quite complete when it was known that the young poet had brought home a wife whose talent, youth, and isolation seemed to render her peculiarly fitted for his mate.
Though love was lacking, vanity was strong in Canaris, and this was gratified by the commendation bestowed on the new ornament he wore; for as such simple Gladys was considered, and shone with reflected lustre, her finer gifts and graces quite eclipsed by his more conspicuous and self-asserting ones.