"No, no, dear Peter!" she cried, stretching out her hands to him. "Oh, I thought that was all over. I sent for you because I wanted just to say to you—don't trifle!—don't shilly-shally! I know Jenny Dumbarton a little. She's charming—she's got a delicate, beautiful character—and such a warm heart! Don't break anybody's heart, Peter—for my silly sake!"
The surge of emotion in Peter subsided slowly. He began to study the moss at his feet, poking at it with his stick.
"What makes you think I've been breaking Jenny's heart?" he said at last in another voice.
"Some of your friends, Peter, yours and mine—have been writing to me. She's—she's very fond of you, they say, and lately she's been looking a little limp ghost—all along of you, Mr. Peter! What have you been doing?"
"What any other man in my position would have been doing—wishing to Heaven I knew what to do!" said Peter, still poking vigorously at the moss.
Helena bent forward from the oak tree, and just whispered—"Go back to-morrow, Peter,—and propose to Jenny Dumbarton!"
Peter could not trust himself to look up at what he knew must be the smiling seduction of her eyes and lips. He was silent; and Helena withdrew—dryad-like—into the hollow made by the intertwined stems of the oak, threw her head back against the main trunk, dropped her eyelids, and waited.
"Are you asleep, Helena?" said Peter's voice at last.
"Not at all."
"Then sit up, please, and listen to me."