Hayward went to the little door and surveyed the heavens. "Another storm seems to be headed this way," he said. "If that strikes us there’s no telling when we will get away. We are perfectly safe here, however. This cabin is built back against the hill and there are no trees near enough to fall on us." "Were you hurt?" asked Helen abruptly, for the first time thinking of the dangers they had gone through as dangers. "Nothing worth reporting," said Hayward in order to allay her fears. It was a lie well told, for he had a decidedly caved-in feeling about his ribs. "You saved my life again—this time at risk of your own. When the carriage was crushed I thought that I—oh, it is too horrible!" She trembled violently. Hayward saw that he must divert her thoughts from this direful night. He was much desirous of discussing other matters anyway. After a silent minute he began. "Your return was quite unexpected to—us," he said. "Yes, and a very short visit I’m to make as it is. I leave again day after to-morrow morning." She stopped and apparently did not care to say more of herself—or of her plans.... Hayward was of a different mind. "You didn’t say anything of this visit in your last letter," he ventured. "No, I had not decided on it then." ... Silence again. "Helen, why did you write me that letter?" Hayward squared himself for battle and fired the first shot. "I only answered yours—your two letters, rather. You insisted on making your—demands, and I simply told you what I thought. You also attacked one of my friends, and I defended him." Helen was not versed in the art of indirection or evasion. Hayward was very thankful for that. It made the issue clear, and made it quickly. "As for your friend," said Hayward, "your defence of him is without knowledge—" "As your attack upon him was without justice," Helen interrupted. "I said he was a contemptible cad, and I stand ready to prove it. You may be the judge of it. He was my friend at college, and our relations were of such intimacy as I have told you about, and yet, knowing me full well, he refused to know me in Washington, or to shake hands with me, or to speak to me, even." "Perhaps he did not remember you. Remember it has been five or six—" "I’m telling you he did know me. He admitted it—in order that his affront might be unequivocal. I tell you he’s a cad, a damnable cad, and I want you to cut him off your list. Promise me that you will have nothing more to do with him." The man in his half-demand, half-plea, put out his arm toward her to reinforce his appeal with a caress, but his wife drew away from him and warded off his hand as she spoke to him. "No," she cried, "I cannot believe it. There must be some explanation—I cannot do it—I’m to be one of his automobile party next Thursday.... Don’t—don’t!" "What! May I not kiss you?" "No, no. Not—not now." "But you are my wife—I have the right to kiss you." "You have no right," said Helen.