"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."
"Tomorrow Helen goes to Munich—"
"Well, possibly she is right."
"Henry, let a lady finish. Tomorrow she goes; tonight, 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
