‘Why so _sincere_? You speak so emphatically that I begin to doubt your sincerity. Why congratulate me at all?’ ‘What a question! I always understood, from your own words, that you looked forward to your twenty-first birthday as a moment of emancipation, when you would not be trodden down any more, and could really show the sex which fails to meet your approval what you think of them, and----’ ‘I wish you would not keep talking in that way,’ said Helena. ‘It does not amuse me in the least, and I don’t see what fun there is in it.’ ‘Fun! I had no idea of fun! You shock me. I am in the most solemn earnest I beg to be allowed to offer my congratulations to the heroine of the present occasion, and to wish you “many happy returns of this day.” You will permit me to do that?’ ‘I am not a heroine, and the present occasion requires anything but congratulations,’ was all Helena said. Her wonted brilliance and high spirits had quite deserted her, even in the presence of Sebastian Mallory, for whose delectation they were usually wont to flow rather more rapidly than at other times. In this new and more pensive mood Sebastian found the charm, which he had always owned, a strong one. He had never before found her so attractive. Her dress was less splendid, and more airy and girlish than usual. It was white and full and flowing, suggestive of _tulle illusion_ and silvery clouds, and was dotted all over with little bunches of rosebuds. There was a string of pearls around her lovely throat; and, for all her paleness and downcast looks, her beauty came out triumphant. ‘She is a lovely creature!’ he thought, glancing downwards at the serious face and the dark lashes which swept her cheek. ‘Not a heroine!’ he said. ‘You must be one to-night, whether you like it or not. And as for congratulations, I could offer you a hundred reasons why people should congratulate you; but to confine myself to one, you are Helena Spenceley. Don’t you think that is reason enough for congratulation?’ They had wandered into a little anteroom, divided by curtains from one of the other sitting-rooms, and as Sebastian asked the last question they were standing in the middle of the room, and Helena looked at him. Her face was sad, and her eyes were bright with tears. ‘It is of no use; you cannot make me angry to-night, even by laughing at me. But if you want the satisfaction of knowing that your remarks wound me, take it: it is so.’ ‘Helena! Miss Spenceley!’ he stammered, in confusion, for his words had not been free from malice, and he knew it. What he had not known was that Helena was in no mood for battle--that she did not even wish to quarrel with him. ‘If you are offended, I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I did not mean anything like what you imagine. And, since you do not choose to be congratulated, I withdraw the congratulations. May I say you have my good wishes?’