"I—how on earth—what a perfectly senseless—"
"I know it. I'm half senseless from fright. Yes, I am, Hélène! Now! here! at this very minute, I am scared blue. That's why I'm holding on to your hand so desperately; I'm afraid to let go."
She flushed brightly with annoyance, or something or other—but he held fast to her hand and put one arm around her waist.
"Sam!" she said, exasperated. That was the last perfectly coherent word she uttered for several minutes. And, later, she was too busy to say very much.
* * * * *
When Annan returned, Hélène rose from the couch where she and Ogilvy had been seated and came across the floor, blushing vividly.
"I don't know what on earth you think of me, Mr. Annan, and I suppose I will have to learn to endure the consequences of Mr. Ogilvy's eccentricities—"
"Oh, I'm terribly glad!" said Annan, grinning, and taking her hand in both of his.
They had tea on the veranda. Ogilvy was too excited and far too happy to be dignified, and Hélène was so much embarrassed by his behaviour and so much in love that she made a distractingly pretty picture between the two young men who, as Rita had said, would never, never be old enough to grow up.
"Do you know," said Hélène, "that your friends the Nevilles have recently been very nice to me? They have called, and have returned my call, and have asked me to dinner. I suppose cordiality takes longer to arrive at maturity in New York State than in any other part of the Union. But when New York people make up their minds to be agreeable, they certainly are delightful."