“What an awful thing it is to have so little knowledge!” she exclaimed.
Emory looked at her in surprise. At first he could not believe her serious, but the expression on her face was convincing.
“Compared to Cerini?” he asked.
“Compared to any one who has brains—like Jack or Inez.”
Emory studied his companion carefully. The impression made upon him a few moments before, then, was no hallucination.
“What did Cerini say which upset you, Helen?”
“Cerini?” Helen repeated. “Why, nothing. As a matter of fact, he was very complimentary—even gallant. Some of you younger men could take lessons from Cerini in the gentle art of flattery.”
“I beg your pardon, Helen,” Emory apologized; “I had no intention of intruding.”
“Dear old Phil,” cried Helen, holding out her hand impulsively, “of course you had not, and you could not intrude, anyhow.”
Emory held the proffered hand a moment before it was withdrawn. “I can’t help feeling concerned when I see something disturb you,” he said, quietly—“now, any more than I could before.”