"Not if I can help it," replied Brown again, this time with a suspicion of a smile.
"Now, Brownie, I want you to help me," said Helen. "It is hard enough. There is nothing between us now. He wishes it to be so, and after all, I do too."
"You do? Look me in the face and say you do."
Helen looked him steadily in the face, and said, quietly, "Yes, I do. In all sincerity I believe it is far better so. Mother is quite determined, and she has only me. It is the only thing possible, so I want you to help me."
"And all that—that—that thing last spring was a farce—a mistake, I mean?"
"Yes, a mistake. An awful mistake. You see," explained Helen, hurriedly, "I was dreadfully excited, and—well, you know, I made a fool of myself. And so, Brownie, you must help me."
"Help you—how? To keep him off? That won't be hard. Tell him it was all a mistake last spring and that you regret it, and you won't need to do anything else, if I know him."
"I have—at least mother has told him."
"Your mother?" gasped Brown. "Then that settles it. Good-by. I did not expect this of you."
"Come back, Brownie. You know you are unkind, and you must not desert me."