“I was tired,” said Helen; “I guess that was it.”
“You'll find the breakfast rather a sombre repast,” added Mrs. Roberts, pathetically. “I've been up nearly three hours myself, so frightened about poor Mr. Howard; I had neveer seen anyone so dreadfully ill, and I was quite certain he was in his death agony.”
“Aunt Polly!” cried Helen with a sudden wild start, “why do you talk like that?”
“I won't say any more about it,” was the reply, “only hurry up. And put on your best looks, my dear, for Mr. Harrison to carry away in his memory.”
“I'll do that much with pleasure,” was the answer; “and please have the maid come up to pack my trunks again; for you won't want me to stay now, of course.”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Roberts, “not unless you want to. Our house won't be a very cheerful place, I fear.”
“I'll come back in a week or two, when you are ready for me,” Helen added; “in the meantime I can be thinking about Mr. Harrison.”
Helen was soon on her way downstairs, for it was terrifying to her to be alone and in the neighborhood of Mr. Howard. She found a sombre gathering indeed, for the guests spoke to each other only in half-whispers, and there were few smiles to be seen. Helen found herself placed opposite Mr. Harrison at the table, and she had a chance to study him by glances through the meal. “He's well dressed, anyway,” she mused, “and he isn't altogether bad. I wonder if I'd dare to marry him.”
After breakfast Helen strolled out upon the piazza, perhaps with some purpose in her mind; for it is not unpleasant to toy with a temptation, even when one means to resist it. At any rate, she was a little excited when she heard Mr. Harrison coming out to join her there.
“Rather a sad ending of our little party, wasn't it, Miss Davis?” he said.