“Helene,” he said, “I really do love you.”

[Illustration:  “’I am scared blue.  That’s why I’m holding on to your hand so desperately.’”]

“Please—­”

“No!  I love you!  Are you going to let me?”

“I—­how on earth—­what a perfectly senseless—­”

“I know it.  I’m half senseless from fright.  Yes, I am, Helene!  Now! here! at this very minute, I am scared blue.  That’s why I’m holding on to your hand so desperately; I’m afraid to let go.”

She flushed brightly with annoyance, or something or other—­but he held fast to her hand and put one arm around her waist.

“Sam!” she said, exasperated.  That was the last perfectly coherent word she uttered for several minutes.  And, later, she was too busy to say very much.

* * * * *

When Annan returned, Helene rose from the couch where she and Ogilvy had been seated and came across the floor, blushing vividly.

“I don’t know what on earth you think of me, Mr. Annan, and I suppose I will have to learn to endure the consequences of Mr. Ogilvy’s eccentricities—­”

“Oh, I’m terribly glad!” said Annan, grinning, and taking her hand in both of his.

They had tea on the veranda.  Ogilvy was too excited and far too happy to be dignified, and Helene was so much embarrassed by his behaviour and so much in love that she made a distractingly pretty picture between the two young men who, as Rita had said, would never, never be old enough to grow up.

“Do you know,” said Helene, “that your friends the Nevilles have recently been very nice to me?  They have called, and have returned my call, and have asked me to dinner.  I suppose cordiality takes longer to arrive at maturity in New York State than in any other part of the Union.  But when New York people make up their minds to be agreeable, they certainly are delightful.”

“They’re a bunch of snobs,” said Ogilvy, calmly.

“Oh!” said Helene with a distressed glance at Annan.

“He’s one, too,” observed her affianced, coolly nodding toward Annan.  “We’re a sickening lot, Helene—­until some charming and genuine person like you comes along to jounce us out of our smiling and imbecile self-absorption.”

“I,” said Annan gravely, “am probably the most frightful snob that ever wandered, in a moment of temporary aberration, north of lower Fifth Avenue.”

“I’m worse,” observed Sam gloomily.  “Help us, Helene, toward loftier aspirations.  Be our little uplift girl—­”

“You silly things!” she said indignantly.

Later two riders passed the house, Cameron and Stephanie Swift, who saluted Helene most cordially, and waved airy recognition to the two men.

“More snobs,” commented Sam.

“They are very delightful people!” retorted Helene hotly.

“Most snobs are when they like you.”

“Sam!  I won’t have you express such sentiments!”