“Perhaps so,” and she turned her small pink ear to him and stood very still while he loosened the refractory ring, his hands touching her hair and cheek and making her blush as she thanked him and stepped back.
He did not speak of Craig, but he asked how she was going to pass the day without her usual drive.
“I shall not miss it,” she said; “there is such a thing as being driven too much,” and she looked at him in a way which made it hard for him to keep back the words he was intending to say before Craig Mason returned.
But not in the office. He had the time and place arranged, and he said, “As you cannot drive suppose you take a walk after tea. The evening will be fine. There is a full moon, you know.”
Helen assented readily. Here was something to think of; something to do,—and all the ennui of the morning was gone. That afternoon there came a telegram from Craig, who said, “We reached home safely. Shall return on Saturday, instead of Monday, as I first proposed.”
“How like him,—making love by telegraph. We shall probably exchange postals for good mornings when we are married,” Helen said with a laugh Craig would not have been pleased to hear.
“He was very thoughtful to let you know he would be back sooner than you expected him, and shows his kind heart,” her mother suggested.
“I suppose it was,” Helen replied, as she tore up the telegram, and tossing the pieces into the waste basket went to dress herself for the anticipated walk.
“Where are you going?” her mother asked, when after tea she saw her putting on her hat and jacket.
“Just to the post office and round the square,” Helen replied.