The one recent event in Mr. Gracedieu’s family, worthy of record, is of a melancholy nature. After paying his visit to-day, the doctor has left word that nobody but the nurse is to go near the Minister. This seems to indicate, but too surely, a change for the worse.
Helena has been away all the evening at the Girls’ School. She left a little note, informing me of her wishes: “I shall expect to be favored with your decision to-morrow morning, in my housekeeping room.”
At breakfast time, the report of the poor Minister was still discouraging. I noticed that Helena was absent from the table. Miss Jillgall suspected that the cause was bad news from Mr. Philip Dunboyne, arriving by that morning’s post. “If you will excuse the use of strong language by a lady,” she said, “Helena looked perfectly devilish when she opened the letter. She rushed away, and locked herself up in her own shabby room. A serious obstacle, as I suspect, in the way of her marriage. Cheering, isn’t it?” As usual, good Selina expressed her sentiments without reserve.
I had to keep my appointment; and the sooner Helena Gracedieu and I understood each other the better.
I knocked at the door. It was loudly unlocked, and violently thrown open. Helena’s temper had risen to boiling heat; she stammered with rage when she spoke to me.
“I mean to come to the point at once,” she said.
“I am glad to hear it, Miss Helena.”
“May I count on your influence to help me? I want a positive answer.”
I gave her what she wanted. I said: “Certainly not.”
She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, opened it, and smoothed it out on the table with a blow of her open hand.