He bent nearer to her: 

“Dearest, I never had any sentiments except for you.  And only the inconvenient propinquity of that man Annan prevents me from expressing them.”

“Please, Sam—­”

“Don’t be afraid; I won’t.  He wouldn’t care;—­but I won’t....  Hello!  Why look who’s here!” he exclaimed, rising.  “Why it’s the great god Kelly and little Sunshine!”—­as Neville and Valerie sprang out of Mrs. Collis’s touring car and came up the walk.

Helene went forward to meet them, putting one arm around Valerie and holding out the other to Neville.

“When did you arrive, darling?” she exclaimed.  “How do you do, Mr. Neville?  Valerie, child, I’m perfectly enchanted to see you.  But where in the world are you stopping?”

“At Ashuelyn,” said the girl, looking straight into Helene’s eyes.  A faint flash of telepathy passed between them; then, slowly, Helene turned and looked at Neville.

“Will you wish us happiness?” he said, smiling.

“Oh-h,” whispered Helene under her breath—­“I do—­I do—­God knows.  I wish you everything that makes for happiness in all the world!” she stammered, for the wonder of it was still on her.

Then Sam’s voice sounded close at hand: 

“Why,” he said admiringly, “it looks like lovey and dovey!”

“It is,” said Valerie, laughing.

“You!—­and Kelly!”

“We two.”

Sam in his excitement became a little wild and incongruous: 

  “’My wife’s gone to the country! 
    Hooray!  Hooray!’”

he shouted, holding hands with Annan and swinging back and forth.

“Sam!” exclaimed Helene, mortified.

“Darling?—­oh, gee!  I forgot what is due to decorum!  Please, please forgive me, Helene!  And kindly inform these ladies and gentlemen that you have consented to render me eternally and supremely happy; because if I tried to express to them that delirious fact I’d end by standing on my head in the grass—­”

“You dear!” whispered Valerie, holding tightly to Helene’s hands.

“Isn’t it dreadful?” murmured Helene, turning her blue eyes on the man who never would grow old enough to grow up.  “I had no such intention, I can assure you; and I don’t even understand myself yet.”

“Don’t you?” said Valerie, laughing tenderly;—­“then you are like all other women.  What is the use of our ever trying to understand ourselves?”

Helene laughed, too: 

“No use, dear.  Leave it to men who say they understand us.  It’s a mercy somebody does.”

“Isn’t it,” nodded Valerie; and they kissed each other, laughing.

“My goodness, it’s like the embrace of the two augurs!” said Ogilvy.  “They’re laughing at us, Kelly!—­at you, and me and Harry!—­and at man in general!—­innocent man!—­so charmingly and guilelessly symbolised by us!  Stop it, Helene!  You make me shiver.  You’ll frighten Annan so that he’ll never marry if you and Valerie laugh that way at each other.”