neither subserved her. Her father’s quiet “H’m!” her mother’s curt question, made her draw inwards like a snail which can never retreat far enough from condemning eyes. She made a careless pretence of eating. She was like a child which has done wrong, and will not be punished, but will be left with the humiliating smear of offence upon it.
There was a quick, light palpitating of the knocker. Mrs. Verden went to the door.
“Has she come?”
And there were hasty steps along the passage. Louisa entered. She flung herself upon Helena and kissed her.
“How long have you been in?” she asked, in a voice trembling with affection.
“Ten minutes,” replied Helena.
“Why didn’t you send me the time of the train, so that I could come and meet you?” Louisa reproached her.
“Why?” drawled Helena.
Louisa looked at her friend without speaking. She was deeply hurt by this sarcasm.
As soon as possible Helena went upstairs. Louisa stayed with her that night. On the next day they were going to Cornwall together for their usual mid-summer holiday. They were to be accompanied by a third girl—a minor friend of Louisa, a slight acquaintance of Helena.
During the night neither of the two friends slept much. Helena made confidences to Louisa, who brooded on these, on the romance and tragedy which enveloped the girl she loved so dearly. Meanwhile, Helena’s thoughts went round and round,
