“I can’t believe it, Helen,” Uncle Peabody said, decisively. “Whatever else one may say of Jack Armstrong, he is honest, and I can’t believe him insincere in what he said to you.”
“It is not insincerity, dear,” she replied, wearily. “He is trying to deceive himself.—What is it, Annetta?” she asked, almost petulantly, of the maid as she approached.
“Monsignor Cerini—” began the maid.
“Mr. Armstrong is on the veranda,” Helen interrupted.
“But he asks for the madama.”
“For me?” Helen was incredulous. “Show him out here, Annetta.”
The librarian’s face beamed genially as he greeted her and Uncle Peabody.
“Has the maid not made a mistake?” Helen asked. “Is it not our invalid whom you wish to see?”
“No, my daughter, it is you whom I seek. I have come to make a full though long-delayed acknowledgment.”
Helen glanced over to Uncle Peabody, thoroughly mystified.