Helen--poor dear!--hung up her gown carefully enough, though with no more interest than if it were a towel; and she kicked first one of her slippers almost ceiling high and caught it and then the other, in enjoyment of an old trick of hers. Mirrors were of no use to her in undoing and brushing her hair; yet as she laid the brush back on the table she had a glimpse of herself and it was the smiling self. She laughed at that self, only to find that it was less plain-looking than the smiling self; and then she was angry. The mirror conscience stabbed her with the thought that she was posing, trying to be attractive. "He must have fancied that I was flirting!" she mused. "I flirt with anybody!" When she went to bed it was to toss and think of many things, consequent and inconsequent, and of no one thing for long, and when she found herself sobbing she turned on the light and took up her charcoals. But they seemed crude and self-accusing, and she turned to drawing pictures out of her fancy, which at last made her eyelids heavy as it had on many other occasions. CHAPTER V THE FLAVOUR OF GRAPES When Helen came down to breakfast she was wan and years older in appearance than Henriette, who was blooming and cheerful. "Working again! Confess--I saw the light in your room," said Henriette. "You try too hard." "There's no doubt of it," agreed Helen. "I can't help it. It's the fault of mistaking taste for talent in moments of impulse, and some kind of a knot in my brain." "Poor dear!" said Mrs. Sanford in instinctive sympathy before she could catch herself. Then she drew back in her chair, prepared for the tempest. But this time Helen did not appear even irritated; she had become more than ever inexplicable to her aunt. "Poor dear!" she repeated absently. "If one talks about one's self one must expect to be talked about." The vicar turned to Phil's experiences in the Southwest. Was it really wild? And how did one live? As Phil pictured his life in swift, broad strokes, Helen was listening intently and some of the fire returned to her eyes. "There is one thing I have not told," he said gravely, as they went out on the lawn. "I think that it ought to be told even in the presence of the ancestor, though he may disown me." "More American humour," thought Mrs. Sanford, convinced that she now knew the signals and prepared to laugh even if she did not understand the joke. "My first task was cleaning out cattle cars!" But Mrs. Sanford did not laugh. She was aghast. Even the vicar was visibly shocked. Helen spoke first. "I hope you did it well," she said. "No fear!" he rejoined. "We wondered why you did not go to work for Peter," said the vicar.