Helen Briggs looked surprised at seeing the girl. “Your uncle told me you had gone away with Mrs. McShane, Fanny,” she said. “Oh, she found Madame Alphonsine, the dressmaker,” Fanny replied. “So I wasn’t any use.” West glanced significantly at the young people. “I hope we aren’t interrupting a _tête-à-tête_,” he said, with exaggerated politeness. Guy tried to assume a careless air. “Oh, not at all, not at all,” he said, grandly. He objected to West’s amiable air of patronage. “Let’s go into the ballroom, Guy,” Fanny whispered. Guy hesitated. He looked wistfully at Helen. “Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Briggs?” Helen shook her head. “Just amuse yourself, that’s all.” Fanny seized the boy by the arm and drew him toward the steps. “Guy’s always trying to earn his salary. I never knew anyone that worried so much about it.” West took a seat on the wicker divan beside Helen. “He’s an exception here in Washington, then, isn’t he?” he remarked. “He’s a good, conscientious boy. I sometimes wonder if this Washington life isn’t hurting him.” “There’s so much wickedness here, do you mean?” “So much wasting time,” Helen replied, seriously. West drew one of the palm leaves between his fingers. “Don’t you think you are--well, just a little too scrupulous about these matters?” he asked, keeping his eyes turned from Helen’s face. Helen laughed. “That’s what Douglas is always saying. You aren’t going to blame me, too, are you?” West let the palm spring back from his hand. He tried to look serious. “I should be the last man in the world to blame you for anything, Mrs. Briggs,” he said, softly. “I admire you too much as you are.” Helen took her fan from her lap. He could see that her face had flushed. “Aren’t we complimentary to-night!” she said, with a smile. “Do you often say things like that?” “No. I’m not much of a hand at paying compliments.” West leaned back and took a long breath. “Besides, it would be very hard to pay compliments to a woman like you.” He leaned forward and allowed both his hands to fall to his knees. “Do you know why?” he went on. “Because you are one of the few women I’ve met whom I really respect. I pay you the compliment,” he laughed, “of telling you nothing but the truth.” “That’s the best compliment any woman could be paid, isn’t it?” said Helen, fanning herself nervously. West leaned toward her. “But there are some things I have never quite dared to tell you,” he remarked, in a low voice and with a smiling lift of the eyebrows. “I’ve never dared, because--well, perhaps they would be too interesting. There are some things, you know, that it’s very hard for a man to say to a woman, especially to a woman like you.” “They are usually the things that are better left unsaid, aren’t they?” Helen remarked, quietly.