"Oh, now, Helena, not a scene, please! My dear, I love you as much as ever. You are a charming woman, and I greatly value your friendship. But I can love you just as much, not to say more, if you are here in your own house in Old Chester, instead of being in my house in Philadelphia. Why, it would be like sitting on a volcano!"
"I cannot stay in Old Chester any longer," she said; "dreadful things have happened, and—"
"What things? You said that before. Do explain these mysterious allusions."
"Mr., Wright's son," she began—and then her voice broke. But she told him as well as she could.
Mr. Pryor gave a frowning whistle. "Shocking! Poor Nelly!"
"You see, I must go away," she said, wringing her hands; "I can't bear it!"
"But, my dear," he protested, "it wasn't your fault. You were not to blame because a rash boy—" Then a thought struck him, "but how the devil did he discover—?"
When Helena explained that she supposed old Mr. Wright had told his grandson, Pryor's anger broke out: "He knew? How did he find out?"
Helena shook her head; she had never understood that, she said. Lloyd's anger always confused her, and when he demanded furiously why she had not told him about the old fool—"he'll blazon the whole thing!"—she protested, quivering, that Mr. Wright would not do that.
"I meant to tell you, but I—I forgot it. And anyway, I knew he wouldn't; he said he wouldn't; besides, he had a stroke when he heard about Sam, and he hasn't spoken since. And Dr. King—" she winced—"Dr. King says it's the beginning of the end."