“You’re all unstrung, but this brandy will help you—if you don’t object to a swallow of it. Then come right in here and lie down for a moment and you’ll be all right.” She spoke with such genuine kindness and sympathy that Helen flashed a grateful glance at her. She was tall, slender, and with a peculiar undulating suggestion in her movements, as though she had been bred to the clinging folds of silken garments. Helen watched the charm of her smile, the friendly solicitude of her expression, and felt her heart warm towards this one kind woman in Nome.
“You’re very good,” she answered; “but I’m all right now. I was badly frightened. It was wonderful, your saving me.” She followed the other’s graceful motion as she placed her burden on the table, and in doing so gazed squarely at a photograph of Roy Glenister.
“Oh—!” Helen exclaimed, then paused as it flashed over her who this girl was. She looked at her quickly. Yes, probably men would consider the woman beautiful, with that smile. The revelation came with a shock, and she arose, trying to mask her confusion.
“Thank you so much for your kindness. I’m quite myself now and I must go.”
Her change of face could not escape the quick perceptions of one schooled by experience in the slights of her sex. Times without number Cherry Malotte had marked that subtle, scornful change in other women, and reviled herself for heeding it. But in some way this girl’s manner hurt her worst of all. She betrayed no sign, however, save a widening of the eyes and a certain fixity of smile as she answered:
“I wish you would stay until you are rested, Miss—” She paused with out-stretched hand.
“Chester. My name is Helen Chester. I’m Judge Stillman’s niece,” hurried the other, in embarrassment.
Cherry Malotte withdrew her proffered hand and her face grew hard and hateful.
“Oh! So you are Miss Chester—and I—saved you!” She laughed harshly.
Helen strove for calmness. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, coolly. “I appreciate your service to me.” She moved towards the door.