“Wally!” Mary’s exclamation of surprise was drowned in the ballet from Coppelia.  “I don’t allow any man to worry me!” said Helen over her shoulder.

“But, Helen—­don’t you think it’s just possible—­that you’ve been worrying him?”

A crashing series of chords was her only answer.  In the middle of a run Helen topped and swung around on the bench.

“Talking about worrying people,” she said.  “What’s the matter with Burdon down at the office lately?  What have you been doing to him?”

“Helen!  What a thing to say!”

“Well, that’s how it started, if you want to know!  I was trying to cheer him up a little ... and Wally thought he saw more than he did....”

For a feverish minute she resumed Delibes’ dance, but couldn’t finish it.  She rose, half stumbling, blinded by her tears and Mary comforted her.

“Now, go and get your bag, dear,” she said at last, “and I’ll go home with you, and stay all night if you like.”

But Helen wouldn’t have that.

“No,” she said, “I’m going to stay here a few days.  I told my maid where she could find me—­but I made her promise not to tell Wally till morning—­and I’m not going back till he comes for me.”

“I wonder what he saw...”  Mary kept thinking.  “Poor Wally!” And then more gently, “Poor Helen! ...  It’s just as I’ve always said.”

Mary was a long time going to sleep that night, thinking of Helen, and Wally and Burdon.

Yes, Helen was right about Burdon.  Something was evidently worrying him.  For the last few days she had noticed how irritable he was, how drawn he looked.

“I do believe he’s in trouble of some sort,” she sighed.  “And he looks so reckless, too.  I’m glad that Wally did speak to Helen.  He isn’t safe.”  And again the thought recurring, “I wonder what Wally saw....”

A sound from the lawn beneath her window stopped her.  At first she thought she was dreaming—­but no, it was a mandolin being played on muted strings.  She stole to the window.  In the shadow stood a figure and at the first subdued note of his song, Mary knew who it was.

“Soft o’er the fountain
 Ling’ring falls the southern moon—­”

“If that isn’t Wally all over,” thought Mary.  “He thinks Helen’s here, and he wants to make up.”

But how did he know Helen was there?  And why was he singing so sadly, so plaintively just underneath Mary’s window?  Another possibility came to her mind and she was still wondering what to do when Helen came in, even as she had come in that night so long ago when Wally had sung Juanita before.

“Wait till morning!  He’ll hear from me!” said Helen in indignation.

Wally’s song was growing fainter.  He had evidently turned and was walking toward the driveway.  A minute later the rumble of a car was heard.

“If he thinks he can talk to me the way he did,” said Helen, more indignant than before, “and then come around here like that—­serenading you—!”