Many times before Betty's return late that afternoon, Helen wondered that a day, just one little day, could be so long. It seemed to her that each minute was an hour, and each hour a day, so slowly did the clock tick the time away. She tried to work, to sew, to read. But there seemed really nothing that she wanted to do except to stand at one of the windows, her eyes on the massive, white-pillared old house set in its wide sweep of green on the opposite hill. What was happening over there? Was there a possible chance that Burke would question, suspect, discover--anything? How would he like--Betty? How would Betty like him? How would Betty do, anyway, in such a position? It was Betty's first experience in--in working for any one; and Betty--sweet and dear and loving as she was--had something of the Denby will and temper, as her mother had long since discovered. Betty was fearless and high-spirited. If she did not like--but what was happening over there? And what would the outcome be? After all, perhaps, as the doctor had said, it was something of a comic opera and farce all in one--this thing she was doing. Very likely the whole thing, from the first, when she ran away years ago, had been absurd and preposterous, just as the doctor had said. And very likely Burke himself, when he found out, would think so, too. It was a fearsome thing--to take matters in her own hands as she had done, and attempt to twist the thread in Fate's hands, and wrest it away from what she feared was destruction--as if her own puny fingers could deal with Destiny! And might it not be, after all, that she had been chasing a will-o'-the-wisp of fancied "culture" all these years? True, she no longer said "swell" and "grand," and she knew how to eat her soup quietly; but was that going to make Burke--love her? She realized now something of what it was that she had undertaken when she fled to the doctor years ago. She realized, too, that during these intervening years there had come to her a very real sense of what love, marriage, and a happy home ought to mean--and what they must mean if she were ever to be happy with Burke, or to make him happy. But what was taking place--over there? At ten minutes before five Betty reached home. Her mother met her halfway down the stairs. "Oh, Betty, you--you _are_ here!" she panted. "Now, tell me everything--every single thing," she reiterated, almost dragging the girl into the apartment, in her haste and excitement. "Don't skip anything--not the least little thing; for a little thing might mean so much--to me." "Why, mother!" exclaimed Betty, her laughing eyes growing vaguely troubled. "Do you really _care_ so much?" With a sudden tightening of the throat Helen pulled herself up sharply. She gave a light laugh. "Care? Of course I care! Don't you suppose I want to know what my baby has been doing all the long day away from me? Now, tell me. Sit right down and tell me from the beginning."