Mark was fully aware of this. He knew the girl better than she knew herself. Opposition from her mother and reproach from Craig would upset her and he did not mean her to come in contact with either. Fortunately for him it had been arranged that morning that he should go to New York the next night on business for Mr. Taylor. If Helen could be there at the same time all would go well. Could she manage it?
“I think so. Yes, I am sure I can,” she said, as they went back to the hotel, where they found Mrs. Tracy very anxious to know what had kept her daughter so long.
“The night is so fine that I wanted to enjoy it and see if it would help my head which aches awfully. I must go to bed at once,” Helen said.
She was longing to be alone and think what she was doing. It seemed to her that she was in a vise from which she could not escape, and Mark held her even in her room.
“I cannot go back now,” she said, “and I would not if I could. I do not love Craig Mason and I do love Mark Hilton. The world will call it a mesalliance and I suppose it is, but love laughs at such things. It would be more honorable to stay and meet Craig face to face and ask for a release. But I can’t do it. With mother going into hysterics, as she certainly would, I might yield.”
She was removing her jacket and felt Craig’s letter in the pocket. It was crumpled and tear stained, for she had kept it in her hands before her face when she was crying. She studied the address,—“Miss Helen Tracy, Prospect House, Ridgefield, Mass.,” carefully, and with a little choking in her throat.
“It is like him,” she thought. “Every letter precise and square and plain as print.”
Then she wondered what was inside. How had he addressed her? Was it a genuine love letter or not? She could easily ascertain by opening it, but something in the better part of her nature made her shrink from doing this. She had separated herself from Craig and the letter did not belong to her.
“I’ll return it unopened in the one I must write him,” she finally decided, and putting it away she tried to sleep, but could not.
Her conscience was not at rest, although she told herself she was very happy, or should be when it was over and people had ceased to talk.