ter said nothing. The slightest
hint would help us."

"Who is 'we'?"

"I thought it best to ring up Charles."

"That was unnecessary," said Margaret, growing warmer. "This news will
give Charles disproportionate pain."

"He has at once gone to call on your brother."

"That too was unnecessary."

"Let me explain, dear, how the matter stands. You don't think that I and
my son are other than gentlemen? It is in Helen's interests that we are
acting. It is still not too late to save her name."

Then Margaret hit out for the first time. "Are we to make her seducer
marry her?" she asked.

"If possible, yes."

"But, Henry, suppose he turned out to be married already? One has heard
of such cases."

"In that case he must pay heavily for his misconduct, and be thrashed
within an inch of his life."

So her first blow missed. She was thankful of it. What had tempted her
to imperil both of their lives. Henry's obtuseness had saved her as well
as himself. Exhausted with anger, she sat down again, blinking at him as
he told her as much as he thought fit. At last she said: "May I ask you
my question now?"

"Certainly, my dear."

"To-morrow Helen goes to Munich--"

"Well, possibly she is right."

"Henry, let a lady finish. To-morrow she goes; to-night, with your
permission, she would like to sleep at Howards End."

It was the crisis of his life. Again she would have recalled the words
as soon as they were uttered. She had not led up to them with sufficient
care. She longed to warn him that they were far more important than
he supposed. She saw him weighing them, as if they were a business
proposition.

"Why Howards End?" he said at last. "Would she not be more comfortable,
as I suggested, at the hotel?"

Margaret hastened to give him reasons. "It is an odd request, but you
know what Helen is and what women in her state are." He frowned, and
moved irritably. "She has the idea that one night in your house would
give her pleasure and do her good. I think she's right. Being one of
those imaginative girls, the presence of all our books and furniture
soothes her. This is a fact. It is the end of her girlhood. Her last
words to me were, 'A beautiful ending.'"

"She values the old furniture for sentimental reasons, in fact."

"Exactly. You have quite understood. It is her last hope of being with
it."

"I don't agree there, my dear! Helen will have her share of the goods
wherever she goes--possibly more than her shar