The Awakening of Helena Richie - Page 117/229

The instant irritation in his face sobered her. She began, carefully,

to talk of this or that: his journey, the Mercer business, his

health--anything to make him smile again. Plainly, it was not the

moment to speak of Mr. Benjamin Wright and her purpose of leaving Old

Chester.

"Now I must run up-stairs just one minute, and see David," she said in

the middle of a sentence. Her minute lengthened to ten, but when she

came back, explaining that she had stopped to wash David's face--"it

was all stained by tears"--he did not seem impatient.

"Your own would be improved by soap and water, my dear," he said with

an amused look. "No! no--don't go now; I want to talk to you, and I

haven't much time."

She knew him too well to insist; instead, she burst into what gayety

she could summon, for that was how he liked her. But back in her mind

there was a growing tremor of apprehension:--there was something

wrong; she could not tell what it was, but she felt it. She said to

herself that she would not speak of Mr. Benjamin Wright until after

dinner.

Little by little, however, her uneasiness subsided. It became evident

that the excitement of the morning had not been too much for Maggie;

things were very good, and Lloyd Pryor was very appreciative, and

Helena's charm more than once touched him to a caressing glance and a

soft word. But as they got up from the table he glanced at his watch,

and she winced; then smiled, quickly. She brought him his cigar and

struck a light; and he, looking at her with handsome, lazy eyes,

caught the hand which held the flaming match, and lit his cigar in

slow puffs.

"Now I must go and give a look at David," she said.

"Look here, Nelly," he protested, "aren't you rather overdoing this

adopted-mother business?"

She found the child rather flushed and in an uneasy doze. Instantly

she was anxious. "Don't leave him, Sarah," she said. "I'll have Maggie

bring your dinner up to you. Oh, I wish I didn't have to go

downstairs!"

"I'm afraid he is worse," she told Lloyd Pryor with a worried frown.

"Well, don't look as if it were an affair of nations," he said

carelessly, and drew her down on the sofa beside him. He was so

gracious to her, that she forgot David; but she quivered for fear the

graciousness should cease. She was like a thirsty creature, drinking

with eager haste, lest some terror should drive her back into the

desert. But Lloyd Pryor continued to be gracious; he talked gayly of

this or that; he told her one or two stories that had been told him in

a directors' meeting or on a journey, and he roared with appreciation

of their peculiar humor. She flushed; but she made herself laugh. Then

she began tentatively to say something of Old Chester; and--and what

did he think? "That old man, who lives up on the hill, called, and--"