Helen's face was still flushed with the glory of her ride with the Storm-King; she smoothed back the long strands of golden hair that had come loose, and then she looked at herself again. “It is dreadful,” she said once more, half aloud, “I do not think I ever felt so nervous in my life, and I don't know what to do; everything I did to please him seemed only to make him more miserable. I wanted him to be happy with me; I wanted him to stay with me.” And she walked away frowning, and seated herself at the piano and began peevishly striking at the keys. “I am going to write to him and tell him that he must get over that dreadfulness,” she muttered after a while, “and come back and be friends with me. Oakdale will be too stupid without him all summer, and I should be miserable.”
She was just rising impatiently when the front door opened and her father came in, exclaiming in a cheery voice, “Well, children!” Then he stopped in surprise. “Why, someone told me Arthur was here!” he exclaimed.
“He's gone home again,” said Helen, in a dissatisfied tone.
“Home!” exclaimed the other. “To Hilltown?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought he was going to stay until tomorrow.”
“So did I,” said Helen, “but he changed his mind and decided that he'd better not.”
“Why, I am really disappointed,” said Mr. Davis. “I thought we should have a little family party; I haven't seen Arthur for a month.”
“There is some important reason,” said Helen—“that's what he told me, anyway.” She did not want her father to have any idea of the true reason, or to ask any inconvenient questions.
Mr. Davis would perhaps have done so, had he not something else on his mind. “By the way, Helen,” he said, “I must ask you, what in the world was that fearful noise you were making?”