at ease in her
presence. There seemed, indeed, no reason for thinking about a person
whom one had known all one's life long.

And Helen was more than the best of company and the loveliest of
objects; she was at once comrade and counsellor. He depended upon her
more than upon any one. Comically helpless as he often found himself, he
asked her advice about everything, and always received the wisest.

He had had often, though not so much in late years, to ask her advice
about girls, for in spite of his financial ineligibility he was so
engaging a person that he found himself continually drawn to the verge
of decisive flirtations. His was rarely the initiative; he was
responsive and affectionate and not at all susceptible, and Helen, who
knew girls of her world to the bone, could accurately gauge the effect
upon him of the pleading coquetry at which they were such adepts. She
could gauge them the better, no doubt, from having herself no trace of
coquetry. Men often liked her, but often found her cold and cynical, and
even suspected her of conceit, especially since it was known that she
had refused many excellent opportunities for establishing herself in
life. She was also suspected by many of abysmal cleverness, and this
reputation frightened admiring but uncomplicated young men more than
anything else. Now, when her first youth was past, men more seldom fell
in love with her and more frequently liked her; they had had time to
find out that if she were cold she was also very kind, and that if
abysmally clever, she could adapt her cleverness to pleasant, trivial
uses.

Gerald, when he thought at all about her, thought of Helen as indeed
cold, clever, and cynical; but these qualities never oppressed him,
aware from the first, as he had been, of the others, and he found in
them, moreover, veritable shields and bucklers for himself. It was to
some one deeply experienced, yet quite unwarped by personal emotions,
that he brought his recitals of distress and uncertainty. Lady Molly was
a perfect little dear, but could he go on with it? How could he if he
would? She hadn't any money, and her people would be furious; she
herself, he felt sure, would be miserable in no time, if they did marry.
They wouldn't even have enough--would they, did Helen think?--for love
in a cottage, and Molly would hate love in a cottage. They would have to
go about living on their relations and friends, as he now did, more or
less; but with a wife and