There was a sudden, frozen silence. Helen gulped, reddened, and turned away, horribly uncomfortable.

“Explanations, please,” said Maurice sternly, but she saw his eyes were dancing.

“I shall not explain anything,” she said with dignity.

“Oh, won’t you? Shove on your coat and come along!”

“I believe I’ll wait for you as — as you suggested,” she said.

“I don’t. Do buck up!”

Helen put on her coat, jammed the luckless hat on her head, and set out beside Maurice. They strode down the road for some way in silence.

“What I want to know first,” said Maurice, “is this: what was the meaning of Rupert Arden?”

A low chuckle came from beside him.

“Oh, he hasn’t much meaning,” Helen answered.

“Why did you get engaged to him?”

“Well he had his points. Not at all a bad sort of creature. Only I got bored with him. Didn’t know one end of a dog from the other. Which reminds me. That Airedale pup. No good at all. Bad quarters, no bone, too full in the eye.”

Maurice laughed.

“All right, we won’t have him. But we were talking of Rupert Arden.”

“He gassed about his Art,” said Helen pensively. “Capital A.”

“I see. But why were you engaged to him?”

“Look here, what’s that to do with you?”

Maurice stopped and faced her.

“I’ll tell you what it’s got to do with me.”

“I was engaged to him because—because I thought I liked him,” said Helen in a hurry.

“We’ll let that pass. You will now tell me why you’ve been behaving like an animated doll for the past three weeks.”

“I shan’t!”

“Don’t be so bad tempered. Out with it!”

“Oh, shut up, Maurice! Don't bully!”

His hands were on her shoulders.

“You, darling! And don’t you deserve to be bullied? Helen, have you ever regretted that you sent me away?”

SHE looked up into his face, and what she saw there made her heart bloom again.

“Yes.”

The grip on her shoulders tightened.

“And you got yourself up to look like a dress-maker's model to vamp me?”

“Here, that’ll do!” said Helen. “I’m blowed if I looked like a—”

“Did you?”

“Yes!”

“I hope you're ashamed of yourself.”

“Maurice, I’m —I’m sick of this! Let me go!”

" I'm not going to let you go—ever. You beast, Helen, I’ve been miserable because you seemed so different. I’ve wanted you, and wanted you. I came back to try and make you love me, and instead of the old, haphazard Helen, I found a dressed-up—”

“That’ll do,” said Helen. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“—a dressed up minx. And it may interest you to know, my sweetheart—”

“No, not at all! I’m not your sweetheart! I—”

“Drop it. It may interest you to know that it was not a fashion-plate that I wanted, but the adorable, mad creature who shoved her head into the bonnet of the car, cursed the chauffeur, and came out with a smudge of grease on one cheek. Got that?”