"Yes."
"You know," she said, "Helen is a charming, clever, talented, beautiful girl. If you are afraid my behaviour is going to make you unhappy——"
"Steve, are you crazy?"
"Couldn't you fall in love with her?"
"Do you want me to try?"
There was a silence, then Stephanie shook her head and gently closed her door.
CHAPTER XXXI
In July Stephanie asked Harry Belter and his wife to spend a week at Runner's Rest. They arrived, the husband a vastly modified edition of his former boisterous, careless, assertive self—a subdued young man now, who haunted his wife with edifying assiduity, moving when she moved, sitting when she sat, tagging faithfully at her dainty heels as though a common mind originated their every inclination.
Philip Grayson, who had been asked with them, told Helen that the Belters had bored him horribly on the journey up.
"You know," he said, "Harry Belter used to be at least amusing, and Marie Cliff was certainly a sparkling companion. But they seem to have no conversation except for each other, no interests outside of each other, and if a fellow ventures to make a remark they either don't listen or they politely make an effort to notice him."