Mr. Donald Estey was not the only one that was trying to forget that occasion. Helen herself was putting it behind her whenever the thought of it entered her head. Thinking of it brought embarrassment; and she did not like to feel embarrassed. She believed that he was trying to show that he had forgotten it; and if he were disposed to forget the ridiculous affair, surely she should be more than glad to do it. And she considered it very fine of him--very fine, indeed. She liked him, too. She liked him very much, and she enjoyed being with him. And there could be no harm now, either, in being with him all she liked, for he could never make the mistake of thinking she cared for him particularly. He understood that she loved some one else. They might be as friendly as they pleased. There could never--thank Heaven!--be any misunderstanding about their relationship. Confidently serene, therefore, Helen Denby enjoyed to the full the stimulus of Mr. Donald Estey's companionship. Then, abruptly, her house of cards tumbled about her ears. "Mrs. Darling, will you marry me?" the man asked one day. He spoke lightly, so lightly that she could not believe him serious. Yet she gave him a startled glance before she answered. "Mr. Estey, please don't jest!" "I'm not jesting. I'm in earnest. Will you marry me?" "_Mr. Estey!_" She could only gasp her dismay. "You seem surprised." He was still smiling. "But you can't--you can't be in earnest, Mr. Estey." "Why not, pray?" "Why, you know--you must remember--what I--I told you, six years ago." The red suffused her face. "You mean--that you cared for some one else?" He spoke gravely now. The smile was quite gone from his eyes. "But, Mrs. Darling, it's just there that I can't believe _you're_ in earnest. Besides, that was six years ago." "But I am in earnest, and it's the same--_now_," she urged feverishly. "Oh, Mr. Estey, please, please, don't let's spoil our friendship--this way. I thought you understood--I supposed, of course, you understood that I--I loved some one else very much." "But, Mrs. Darling, you said that six years ago, and--and you're still free _now_. Naturally no man would be such a fool as to let-- So I thought, of course, that you had--had--" He came to a helpless pause. The color swept her face again. "But I told you then that I was--was learning--was trying to learn-- Oh, why do you make me say it?" He glanced at her face, then jerked himself to his feet angrily. "Oh, come, come, Mrs. Darling, you don't expect me to believe that you now, _now_ are still trying to learn to please (as you call it) some mythically impossible man!" "He's not mythically impossible. He's real." "Then he's blind, deaf, and dumb, I suppose!" Mr. Donald Estey's voice was still wrathful. In spite of herself Helen Denby laughed.