Helen went to the piano, and he sat absently gazing into the glowing heart of the fire. The lamps were not yet brought in, and the room was nearly dark. The firelight fell full upon his face as he sat and pondered; the lines on his forehead deepened into a frown. From her seat at the piano, in the gloom, Helen glanced at him now and again, a little curiously, while her hands stole dreamily over the keys. There was in his face something that was new to her, something vaguely dissatisfied. She had an odd fancy that he was experiencing a sensation new to him also—that he resented it—was unwilling to admit to himself its existence. She found herself speculating upon its nature before her thoughts slid into another and sadder channel. The nocturne she was playing, one of Chopin’s, died away lingeringly, pathetically, and she rose with a scarcely suppressed sigh.
The door opened at the moment, and the maid came in with the lamps; she went out again and immediately re-entered with a letter.
Helen took it quickly from the tray.
“You will forgive me one moment?” she said, with a glance at Carey. She opened the letter hastily, still standing at the piano, and looked at its contents. Then she came forward slowly, the letter in her hand, and sat down by the fire. Her face was grave.
“It is from Bridget,” she said, turning to him. He raised his head with a quick movement.
“Yes?” he replied, and waited. There was something about the tone in which Helen made the announcement which indicated that she wished to speak of her friend.
“Mr. Carey,” she said, after a moment, during which she had sat with averted head, “you were Bridget’s friend.” There was a note of half interrogation in the words. He stirred a little. “She told me,” Helen hastened to say. “She tells me everything,” she added with a smile. Carey looked relieved.
“You know that she has been here?—that she came here the other night?”
“Yes, I heard so. Jim told me.”
“Ah!” she replied quickly, turning appealingly to him. “I want to tell you about Bridget. Jim and I don’t agree in this matter. But he has been good,” she added, with a faint smile. “We have settled not to talk of it. I have known Bridget all my life,” she went on, and there was a touch of pride in her voice. She lifted her head. “I entirely approve of the step she has taken. I rejoice that she had the courage to do it when, and in the manner, she did.” Helen’s pale cheeks flushed a little as she spoke. She fixed her blue eyes earnestly on Carey’s face.