Helen interrupted, pointedly.

"Then why does she not settle it?"

"I will settle it." Inez sat up very straight in her chair, her tense features making her face look drawn in its ashy paleness.

"Jack has no right to force you into any such position, Inez," Helen protested, indignantly; "he is forgetting himself."

"De Peyster is responsible for the whole thing." Emory struggled to step in between the clash of arms. "I recall the very words. 'Phil, old chap,' he said, 'you remember Miss Thayer? She is engaged. She told me she had found some one whom she loved better than her life.' Can you blame me for making such a consummate a.s.s of myself?"

Armstrong's intense interest had taken him too deeply into the affair for him to heed Helen's protests.

"You never said anything of the kind, did you, Miss Thayer?"

"I am not engaged," replied Inez, very firmly, "and I cannot understand why Mr. De Peyster should have put me in this uncomfortable position."

"Of course not," a.s.sented Armstrong, with evident satisfaction. "De Peyster is a fool. I will tell him so the next time I see him."

"I think we had better change the subject," said Helen, rising, her face flushed with indignation. "The methods of the Inquisition have no place at a modern dinner-table."

XI

Inez Thayer had congratulated herself upon her success in keeping her secret. Since her searching self-examination and the harrowing experience during De Peyster's brief visit she had spent many hours inwardly debating the proper steps to take in order to solve her problem. She was certain that no one knew the real state of affairs, and with this certainty the only danger lay in its effect upon herself. But she knew all too well that this danger was indeed a real one. Day by day her admiration for Armstrong increased, and with that admiration her affection waxed stronger and stronger. Those hours together at the library--when they were quite alone, when his face, in their joint absorption in their work, almost touched hers, when his hand rested unconsciously for a moment upon her own--were to her moments in the Elysian Fields, and she quaffed deeply of the intoxicating draught. What harm, she argued to herself, since her companion was oblivious to her hidden sentiments--what disloyalty to her friend, since the pain must all be hers? And the pain was hers already--why not revel in its ecstasy while it lasted?

With her conscience partially eased by her labored conclusions, Inez threw herself into a complete enjoyment of her work. Helen's att.i.tude toward her had not in any way altered, and she was still apparently entirely agreeable to the arrangement. Her suggestion to join them in their labors was the only evidence which Inez had seen that perhaps her friend was becoming restless, even though not ready to raise any objections; but when Helen herself gave up the idea, after her single visit to the library, Inez was convinced that she had misunderstood her motive. Nothing remained, therefore, but to accept her previous argument that she was simply following the inexorable guidance of Fate, with herself the only possible victim. It was uncomfortable, it was wearing, but she could not, she repeated over and over again, remove herself from the exquisite suffering of her surroundings until she was absolutely obliged to do so.

The episode at the dinner-table completely shattered the structure she had built, and its sudden demolition stunned her. This she vaguely realized as she and Helen left the men at the table and walked to the veranda for their coffee. Their departure was in itself an evidence of new and strained conditions, as both Helen and Jack regarded the coffee-and-cigar period as the best part of every dinner and a part to be enjoyed together. Helen had not yet acquired the Continental cigarette habit, but, as she had once expressed it, "Men are so good-natured right after dinner, when they are stuffed, and so happy when they are making silly little clouds of smoke!"

Inez hesitatingly pa.s.sed her arm around her friend's waist, and when Helen drew her closely to her she rested her head against her shoulder, relaxing like a tired child.

"Who would have expected this outcome of such a happy day?" Inez queried, sadly, as the two girls seated themselves upon the wicker divan.

"Jack was a brute!" exclaimed Helen, almost savagely.

"It is all my own fault, Helen; but I could not tell them so in there."

Helen appeared astonished. "How do you mean? Are you really engaged, after all?"

"No, no, Helen; but you see when Ferdy urged me so hard for an answer I had to tell him something."

Inez glanced up at Helen to see how she took her explanation.

"So you told him you were engaged?"

"Not exactly that, but--"

"That you loved some one better than your life?"

Inez shrank a little as she answered. "Something like that," she admitted.

"And it was not true?"

Inez laughed nervously. "What an absurd question, Helen! You know I have seen almost no one since I came here."

"Except Jack," said Helen, impulsively.

Inez sprang to her feet. "What do you mean, Helen? You don't accuse me of being in love with your husband, do you?"

Helen pulled her down beside her again. "Don't be tragic, dear," she said, quietly. "I admit that the suggestion is unkind, after the display Jack made of himself at the table. I am provoked with him myself."

"Helen,"--Inez spoke abruptly, after a moment's silence--"I think I ought to leave Florence."

"Don't be absurd, Inez. You are worked up over this miserable affair, but you will forget all about it in the morning--when you get back to your work at the library."

"No; this time I really mean what I say. I ought to have gone when my visit was up a fortnight ago; but you were so sweet in urging me to stay, and the work had developed with such increasing interest, that I have just stayed on and on."

"I am sorry if you regret having stayed, dear. It certainly seemed to be for the best."

"But see what it has brought on you, Helen."

"I am not proud of my husband's behavior, I admit; but you have even greater cause to feel annoyed than I."

Inez seemed to be drifting hopelessly in her attempt to find the right thing to say.

"I have felt that I ought to go for a long time."

"A long time?" Helen echoed. "Has Jack behaved as badly as this before?"

"Not that; it is the library work which makes me feel so."

"I don't wonder you are getting tired of it."

"Tired of it! Oh, Helen, I wish you could get as much joy out of anything as I do out of this work. Tired of it!" Inez laughed aloud at the absurdity of the suggestion. Then she grew serious again. "I know I ought to leave it, yet I cannot force myself to make the break."

"I don't think I understand," said Helen, quietly, watching intently the struggle through which the girl was pa.s.sing.

"I know you don't, and I don't believe I could make any one understand it," replied Inez, helplessly.

"You talk about it in this mysterious way just as Jack does," continued Helen. "There must be some sort of spell about it, for you both are changed beings since your first visit to the library."

"Then you have noticed it?" Inez looked up anxiously.

"Of course I have noticed it," admitted Helen, frankly. "How could I help it when you yourself feel it so strongly?"

"Do you blame me for it?"