The American lady laughed.

“Gracious me!” she cried.  “You two are emphatic enough about him, aren’t you?”

“We know him,” said Baron de Vries.

Hartley rose to replace his empty cup on the tea-table.  Miss Benham did not meet his eyes, and as he moved away again she spoke to her friend about something they were going to do on the next day, so Hartley went across to where Baron de Vries sat at a little distance, and took a place beside him on the chaise lounge.  The Belgian greeted him with raised eyebrows and the little, half-sad, half-humorous smile which was characteristic of him in his gentler moments.

“You were defending our friend with a purpose,” he said, in a low voice.  “Good!  I am afraid he needs it—­here.”

The younger man hesitated a moment.  Then he said: 

“I came on purpose to do that.  Ste. Marie knows that she saw him on that confounded pig.  He was half wild with distress over it, because—­well, the meeting was singularly unfortunate just then.  I can’t explain—­”

“You needn’t explain,” said the Belgian, gravely.  “I know.  Helen told me some days ago, though she did not mention this encounter.  Yes, defend him with all your power, if you will.  Stay after we others have gone and—­have it out with her.  The Phidias lady (I must remember that mot, by-the-way) is preparing to take her leave now, and I will follow her at once.  She shall believe that I am enamoured, that I sigh for her.  Eh!” said he, shaking his head—­and the lines in the kindly old face seemed to deepen, but in a sort of grave tenderness—­“eh, so love has come to the dear lad at last!  Ah, of course, the hundred other affairs!  Yes, yes.  But they were light.  No seriousness in them.  The ladies may have loved.  He didn’t—­very much.  This time, I’m afraid—­”

Baron de Vries paused as if he did not mean to finish his sentence, and Hartley said: 

“You say ‘afraid’!  Why afraid?”

The Belgian looked up at him reflectively.

“Did I say ’afraid’?” he asked.  “Well, perhaps it was the word I wanted.  I wonder if these two are fitted for each other.  I am fond of them both.  I think you know that, but—­she’s not very flexible, this child.  And she hasn’t much humor.  I love her, but I know those things are true.  I wonder if one ought to marry Ste. Marie without flexibility and without humor.”

“If they love each other,” said Richard Hartley, “I expect the other things don’t count.  Do they?”

Baron de Vries rose to his feet, for he saw that the Phidias lady was going.

“Perhaps not,” said he; “I hope not.  In any case, do your best for him with Helen.  Make her comprehend if you can.  I am afraid she is unhappy over the affair.”

He made his adieus, and went away with the American lady, to that young person’s obvious excitement.  And after a moment the three ladies across the room departed also, Mrs. Benham explaining that she was taking her two friends up to her own sitting-room, to show them something vaguely related to the heathen.  So Hartley was left alone with Helen Benham.