He did not see Helen again till the following morning, for her
wound had been opened afresh, and she spent the remainder of the
day and evening in the solitude of her room. Martine was troubled
at this, and thought she felt as he did.
In the morning she joined him on the piazza. She was pale from her
long sad vigil, but renewed strength and a gentle patience were
expressed in her thin face.
"It's too bad, Helen," he broke out in unwonted irritation. "I
wouldn't have gone if I had known. It was a miserable letting down
of all that had gone before--that reference to me."
Now she smiled brightly as she said, "You are the only one present
who thought so. Has this been worrying you?"
"Yes, it has. If the speaker had seen what I saw, he would have
known better. His words only wounded me."
"He judged you by other men, Hobart. His words would not have
wounded very many. I'm glad I heard that letter--that I have
learned what I never could from you. I'm very proud of my friend.
What silly creatures women are, anyway! They want their friends to
be brave, yet dread the consequences of their being so beyond
words.
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