"Yes, yes, very plausible--to _say_, of course. I see she's talked you over. She did me. I was ready to pull the moon down for her footstool that first night she came to me. I'm ready to do it now--when I'm with her. But away from her, with a chance to think,--it really is absurd, you know, when you come right down to it. Here are Burke and his father, my good friends, hunting the country over for Burke's wife and child.

And here am I, harboring her and abetting her, and never opening my head. Really, it's the sort of thing that you'd say--er--couldn't happen, you know."

"But it _is_ happening; and so far as their finding her is concerned, you said yourself, long ago, that it was the safest hiding-place in the world, for they'd never think of looking in it. They've never been in the habit of coming here, and their friends don't know us. As for the servants, and the few of my friends who see her, she's merely Mrs.

Darling. That's all. Besides, you're entirely leaving out of consideration Helen's own att.i.tude in the matter. I haven't a doubt but that, if you did tell, she'd at least _attempt_ to carry out her crazy threats of flight and oblivion. Really, Frank, so far as being a friend is concerned, you're being the truest friend, both to Burke and his father, and to Helen, by keeping her and protecting her from herself and others--to say nothing of the real help I hope I'm being to her."

"I know, I know," sighed the man, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and scowling at the toe of his shoe. "You 're a brick, Edith! It's been simply marvelous to me--the way you've taken hold. Even that first awful Sunday morning last July, when I showed you what I'd brought you, didn't quite bowl you over."

"It did almost," laughed Edith; "especially when she blurted out that alarming speech, after you'd told me who she was."

"What _did_ she say? I don't remember."

"She said, tragically, frenziedly: 'Oh, Mrs. Thayer, you will help me, won't you?--to be swell and grand and _know_ things, so's Burke won't be ashamed of me. And if you can't make _me_ so, you will Baby, won't you?

I'll do anything--everything you say. Oh, please say you will. I _know_ you're Burke's kind of folks, just to look at you, and at this--the house, and all these swell fixings! You will, won't you? Oh, please say you will!'"

"Gorry! Did she say that--all that?"

"Every bit of it--and more, that I can't remember. You see, I couldn't say anything--not anything, for a minute. And the more she said, the less I _could_ say. Probably she saw something of the horror and dismay in my face, and that's what made her so frenzied in her appeal."

"No wonder you were struck dumb at her nerve and at mine in asking you to take her in," laughed the doctor softly.

"Oh, but 'twas for only a minute. I capitulated at once, first because of the baby--she was such a dear!--then because of the mother's love for it. I thought I'd seen devotion, Frank, but never have I seen it like hers."

"How is she doing, really, about--well, er--this private self-improvement a.s.sociation of hers?" The doctor's smile was eager and quizzical. "I've been away so much, and I've seen so little of her for months past--how _is_ she doing?"

"Splendidly! She's a daily marvel to me, she's so patient and painstaking. Oh, of course, she hasn't _learned_ so very much--yet. But she's so alert and earnest, and she watches everything so! Indeed, if it weren't really so pitiful and so tragic, it would be perfectly funny and absurd. The things she does and says--the things she asks me to teach her! Feverishly and systematically she's set herself to becoming 'swell'

and 'grand.'"

"Swell! Grand!"

"Oh, yes, I know," laughed the lady, answering his shuddering words and gesture. "And--we've nearly eliminated those expressions from our vocabulary now. Burke didn't like them either, she says."

"I can imagine not," observed the doctor dryly.

"Of course all the teaching in the world isn't going to accomplish the thing she wants," went on Mrs. Thayer, a little soberly. "I might teach her till doomsday that clothes, jewels, grooming, and perfume don't make the lady; and unless she learns by intuition and absorption what _does_ make the lady, she'll be little better off than she was before.

But she puts me now through a daily catechism until sometimes I am nearly wild. 'Do ladies do this?' 'Do ladies do that?' she queries at every turn, so that I am almost ready to fly off into a veritable orgy of slang and silliness, just from sheer contrariety. I can tell you, Frank, this attempting to teach the intangible, evanescent thing I'm trying to teach Helen Denby isn't very easy. If you think it is, you try it yourself."

"Heaven forbid!" shrugged the man. "But I'll risk you, Edith. But, tell me--does she help you any, in any way? Do you think you can--keep her, for a while?"

"Keep her? Of course I shall keep her! Do you suppose I'd turn that child adrift now? Besides, she's a real help to me with the children.

And I know--and she knows--that in helping me she is helping herself, and helping Dorothy Elizabeth--'Betty' she calls her now. We're getting along beautifully. We--"

There came the sound of hurried steps, then the sudden wide flinging of the door, and the appearance of a breathless young woman.

"Oh, Mrs. Thayer, they said the doctor had come, and--" Helen Denby stopped short, her abashed eyes going from one to the other of the expressive faces before her. "Oh, I--I beg your pardon," she faltered.

"I hadn't ought to have burst in like this. Ladies don't. You said yesterday that ladies never did. But I--I--doctor, you went to--to Dalton?" she appealed to the man.

"Yes, Mrs. Denby."

"And you saw--them? Burke and his father?"

"Yes."

"But, you didn't--you _didn't_ tell them I was here?"

"Of course not! Didn't I promise you I wouldn't?"

Helen Denby relaxed visibly, and dropped herself into a low chair near by. The color came back to her face.

"I know; but I was so afraid they'd find out--some way."

"They didn't--from me."

She raised startled eyes to his face.

"You don't mean they _do_ know where I am?"

"Oh, no. But--" The doctor stirred uneasily. "Mrs. Denby, don't you think-- Won't you let me tell them where you are?"

"Do they want to know?"

"Yes. They are trying very hard to find you."

"Of course. But if they find me--what then? Does Burke--want me?"

The doctor flushed.

"Well, he--yes--that is, he--well, of course--"

"You don't have to say any more, doctor," interposed Helen Denby, smiling a little sadly.

The red deepened on the doctor's face.

"Well, of course, Burke is very angry and very bitter, just now," he explained defensively. "But if you two could be brought together--" He paused helplessly.

She shook her head.

"'Twould be the same old story--only worse. I see so many things now that I never saw before. Even if he said right now that he wanted me, I wouldn't go back. I wouldn't dare to. 'Twouldn't be a day before he'd be ashamed of me again. Maybe some time I'll learn--" She paused, her eyes wistfully fixed out the window. "But if I don't"--she turned almost frenziedly--"Betty will. Betty is going to be a lady from right now.

Then some day I'll show her to him. He won't be ashamed of Betty. You see if he is!"

Again the doctor stirred uneasily.

"But, think! How can I go on from day to day and not let your husband know--"

Helen Denby sprang to her feet. The wild look of that first night of flight came into her eyes, but her voice, when she spoke, was very calm.

"Dr. Gleason," she began resolutely, "it's just as I told you before.

Unless you'll promise not to tell Burke where I am, till I say the word, I shall take Betty and go--somewhere. I don't know where. But it'll be where you can't find me--any of you."