As ill-luck would have it, Helena wrote to announce her visit for the last evening of Theodore’s stay at the Manor-house. She arrived before dinner, bringing the unwilling Willie along with her.
An almost oppressive quiet had reigned in the mansion, only rarely disturbed by the deep voice of Monk. The guest had spent most of his time out-of-doors, returning occasionally to closet himself with great memoranda and account books. Tante Louisa complained bitterly that she got next to nothing of his interesting conversation; Ursula anxiously fought shy of him; the Dowager, unexpectedly meeting him in the hall, asked her confidante, the cook, who he was.
“I shall stir them all up a bit,” said Helena to her husband in the carriage. “I have seen them already once or twice since the event, and you can’t go on looking lugubrious forever. Besides, I don’t believe Ursula is inconsolable. I shall ask her.”
“No, you won’t,” said Willie.
“Willie, don’t put my back up, or you’ll make me do an unlady-like thing.”
“You won’t ask her, because you can’t. I’d bet you a gold piece that you wouldn’t dare.”
“You wouldn’t like me to dare.” Helena’s eyes strayed away through the carriage window.
“Indeed I should. I like pluck of any kind. In a horse, or a woman, or a dog.”
“Only not in a man!” exclaimed Helena, a little bitterly.