slaved, scrupulously, upon
"Martin Zeda," he loathed every deed and every word of that Old Man of
the Sea. Or could it be that his own being--his nature of Adam--lacked
something which wealth, social position, and Mira, his wife, could not
yield to him?

Now, a new tone in the voice of Helen Cumberly--a tone different from
that compound of good-fellowship and raillery, which he knew--a tone
which had entered into it when she had exclaimed upon the state of the
room--set his poor, anxious heart thrumming like a lute. He felt a hot
flush creeping upon him; his forehead grew damp. He feared to raise his
eyes.

"Is that a bargain?" asked Helen, sweetly.

Henry Leroux found a lump in his throat; but he lifted his untidy head
and took the hand which the girl had extended to him. She smiled a bit
unnaturally; then every tinge of color faded from her cheeks, and Henry
Leroux, unconsciously holding the white hand in a vice-like grip, looked
hungrily into the eyes grown suddenly tragic whilst into his own came
the light of a great and sorrowful understanding.

"God bless you," he said. "I will do anything you wish."

Helen released her hand, turned, and ran from the study. Not until she
was on the landing did she dare to speak. Then:--

"Garnham shall come down immediately. Don't be late for dinner!" she
called--and there was a hint of laughter and of tears in her voice, of
the restraint of culture struggling with rebellious womanhood.

XI

PRESENTING M. GASTON MAX

Not venturing to turn on the light, not daring to look upon her own face
in the mirror, Helen Cumberly sat before her dressing-table, trembling
wildly. She wanted to laugh, and wanted to cry; but the daughter of
Seton Cumberly knew what those symptoms meant and knew how to deal with
them. At the end of an interval of some four or five minutes, she rang.

The maid opened the door.

"Don't light up, Merton," she said, composedly. "I want you to tell
Garnham to go down to Mr. Leroux's and put the place in order. Mr.
Leroux is dining with us."

The girl withdrew; and Helen, as the door closed, pressed the electric
switch. She stared at her reflection in the mirror as if it were the
face of an enemy, then, turning her head aside, sat deep in reflection,
biting her lip and toying with the edge of the white doily.

"You little traitor!" she whispered, through clenched teeth. "You little
traitor--and hypocrite"--sobs began to rise in her throat--"and