A wave of understanding passed over Emory.
“And the some one else was—Armstrong! What a stupid fool I’ve been!” Emory rose and walked to the window. Suddenly he turned. “Does Helen know this?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Then why does she not put a stop to it?”
“Now you have at length arrived at my standpoint,” replied Uncle Peabody, with satisfaction. “Helen knows it, I am convinced. Miss Thayer, of course, knows her own feelings. Armstrong is head over heels in this alleged masterpiece of his, and I give him credit for appreciating Miss Thayer’s sentiments toward him as little as he does Helen’s sufferings. Except for this I should not think of interfering, but under the circumstances I feel that between us we may have a chance to straighten things out before the principals know that there is anything which needs straightening.”
“That is a fair statement of the basis of the conspiracy,” said Emory, returning to his seat; “but have you worked out the details as carefully?”
“No,” admitted Uncle Peabody, frankly. “That is a more difficult proposition, and I doubt if we can formulate any definite plan. It occurred to me that if we joined forces we would stand a better chance of hitting upon some expedient when the opportunity offered.”
“Helen seems more or less reconciled, in spite of what we know she feels,” said Emory, reflectively; “you heard what she said to Armstrong last evening about helping his work to a glorious success?”
“She is trying desperately to be reconciled, and she thinks she has concealed her real feelings,” replied Uncle Peabody; “but she is eating her heart out all the time.”
“Well, I wish I thought I could help her some way.” Emory rose and extended his hand. “I have never looked upon myself as much of a success in matters like this, Mr. Cartwright, but there is nothing I would not do for Helen—even to helping her to get a divorce!”