“Nonsense! As if any woman can be too beautiful! I am sorry you won’t come to the Mena House. It would be a change for you,—and Gervase is going.”
“Is he better to-day?” inquired Helen timidly.
“Oh, I believe he is quite well again. It was the heat or the scent of the flowers, or something of that sort, that made him faint last night. He is not acclimatized yet, you know. And he said that the Princess’s dancing made him giddy.”
“I don’t wonder at that,” murmured Helen.
“It was marvellous—glorious!” said Denzil dreamily. “It was like nothing else ever seen or imagined!”
“If she were your wife, would you care for her to dance before people?” inquired Helen tremblingly.
Denzil turned upon her in haughty wrath.
“How like a woman that is! To insinuate a nasty suggestion—to imply an innuendo without uttering it! If she were my wife, she would do nothing unbecoming that position.”
“Then you did think it a little unbecoming?” persisted Helen.
“No, I did not!” said Denzil sharply. “An independent woman may do many things that a married woman may not. Marriage brings its own duties and responsibilities,—time enough to consider them when they come.”