"When you go over," he said, "you'll go with me." His voice was low. Helen had strolled into the "best room" and was standing there with a bitter chocolate between her fingers, contemplating the old-time furniture.
"When I go over to Paris," said Stephanie airily, "I shall invite whom I choose."
"Who will it be?"
"Oh, some agreeable young man who isn't too bossy," she returned airily. "Somebody who doesn't try to place me in a day nursery while he goes about and has his fling. But, of course, that doesn't mean you. You've had your fling, haven't you?"
"Not too violently," he said.
"That is your story. But I think I'll investigate it when I go over, and tell you what I've found out when I return."
Helen finished her chocolate and came back. "Where the dickens is that unhappy cat, do you suppose?" she inquired.
"Oh, she'll turn up at dinner-time," Cleland reassured her. "Do you know where your room is, Helen?"
"How should I?" returned that young lady, "—never having been in the house before——"
"Dear, forgive me!" cried Stephanie, jumping from her perch and passing one arm around Helen's shoulders.