“Yes,” said Helen, “but I don't like to trouble you—”
“I assure you it will be the greatest pleasure in the world,” said Mr. Harrison; “I only regret that I shall not be able to see more of you, Miss Davis; it is only for the present, I hope.”
“Thank you,” said Helen, still very faintly.
“And I have a pair of horses that I am rather proud of,” added Mr. Harrison, laughing; “I should like you to tell me what you think of them. Will you give me the pleasure?”
And Helen could not hesitate very much longer without being rude. “If you really wish it, Mr. Harrison,” she said, “very well.” And then someone else came out on the piazza and cut short the conversation; Helen had no time to think any more about the matter, but she had a disagreeable consciousness that her blood was flowing faster again, and that her old agitation was back in all its strength. Soon afterwards Mrs. Roberts came out and joined the two.
“Miss Davis has granted me the very great favor,” said Mr. Harrison; “I fear I shall be happier than I ought to be, considering what suffering I leave behind.”
“It will do no good to worry about it,” said Mrs. Roberts, a reflection which often keeps the world from wasting its sympathy. “I shall have your carriage brought round.”
“Isn't it rather early to start?” asked Helen.
“I don't know,” said her aunt; “is it?”
“We can take a little drive if it is,” said Mr. Harrison; “I mean that Miss Davis shall think a great deal of my horses.”