“What I meant was this,” said Lady Gower:  “that, in my experience, I have heard of but few men who care in the way this young man seems to care for you.  You say you do not love him; but if he had wanted to gain my interest, he could not have pleaded his cause better than you have done.  He seems to see your faults and yet love you still, in spite of them—­or on account of them.  And I like the things he does for you.  I like, for instance, his sending you the book of the moment every week for two years.  That shows a most unswerving spirit of devotion.  And the story of the broken bridge in the woods is a wonderful story.  If I were a young girl, I could love a man for that alone.  It was a beautiful thing to do.”

Helen sat with her chin on her hands, deeply considering this new point of view.

“I thought it very foolish of him,” she confessed, questioningly, “to take such a risk for such a little thing.”

Lady Gower smiled down at her from the height of her many years.

“Wait,” she said, dryly, “you are very young now—­and very rich; every one is crowding to give you pleasure, to show his admiration.  You are a very fortunate girl.  But later, these things which some man has done because he loved you, and which you call foolish, will grow large in your life, and shine out strongly, and when you are discouraged and alone, you will take them out, and the memory of them will make you proud and happy.  They are the honors which women wear in secret.”

Helen came back to town in September, and for the first few days was so occupied in refurnishing her studio and in visiting the shops that she neglected to send Carroll word of her return.  When she found that a whole week had passed without her having made any effort to see him, and appreciated how the fact would hurt her friend, she was filled with remorse, and drove at once in great haste to Jermyn Street, to announce her return in person.  On the way she decided that she would soften the blow of her week of neglect by asking him to take her out to luncheon.  This privilege she had once or twice accorded him, and she felt that the pleasure these excursions gave Carroll were worth the consternation they caused to Lady Gower.

The servant was uncertain whether Mr. Carroll was at home or not, but Helen was too intent upon making restitution to wait for the fact to be determined, and, running up the stairs, knocked sharply at the door of his study.

A voice bade her come in, and she entered, radiant and smiling her welcome.  But Carroll was not there to receive it, and, instead, Marion Cavendish looked up at her from his desk, where she was busily writing.  Helen paused with a surprised laugh, but Marion sprang up and hailed her gladly.  They met half-way across the room and kissed each other with the most friendly feeling.

Philip was out, Marion said, and she had just stepped in for a moment to write him a note.  If Helen would excuse her, she would finish it, as she was late for rehearsal.