“That is usually not difficult when one tries hard enough,” Helen agreed; “especially when one is living in such an atmosphere as she is.”
“Jack will have to sacrifice himself temporarily or he will leave you in an uncomfortable position.”
Emory spoke guardedly and watched the effect of his words.
“He would have come this afternoon if I had asked him,” Helen asserted, confidently, “but his book is nearly finished and he is not in a mood to be interrupted. I don’t want anything to interfere with its completion.”
“It will be a relief, though, to have it finished, won’t it?”
Helen looked up quickly at Emory’s question and as quickly dropped her eyes as they met his. “Why—yes,” she admitted, slowly. “I shall be glad to have him take a little rest. I am sure he has been overdoing.”
The girl felt Emory’s questioning glance upon her, and it added to her discomfiture.
“Don’t you think it is time to let me help you, Helen?” he asked, pointedly. “You know perfectly well that I feel toward you just as I always have. No”—he stopped the restraining words upon her lips—“I am going to say nothing which I ought not to say, nothing which you ought not to hear. But I want you to be happy, Helen, and sometimes a man can help. Don’t be afraid to ask me; don’t let your pride stand between us. You know that I shall take no advantage of anything you tell me.”
Helen’s lips quivered slightly as she listened, but her voice was natural though restrained. “Something is misleading you, Phil,” she answered, calmly. “Nothing has happened to make it necessary for me to ask help from any one. If there had I should be glad to have so good a friend to fall back upon.”
“You are deceiving no one but yourself, Helen.”