“I told her when I learned who Fanny was; she is very anxious to see her sister. Can she go?” Mark said. “No, oh no,” Helen cried, wringing her hands. “She must not go. It would all be known,—the relationship, I mean. She thinks you dead. Let her think so. She knows all about you—way back.” “To ’Tina?” Mark asked, and Helen answered him, “Yes, to ’Tina. I told her everything when Judge Prescott died. I had to, she was so persistent after she knew a little. She is to marry Roy Mason, son of Alice and Craig. You remember them?” It was a strange question to ask, and Mark laughed as he answered it. “I have reason to remember Craig, as he has me. I suppose you have met him often. I should like to have seen the first meeting.” “It was nothing to see,” Helen answered. “He was Alice’s husband and any love he ever had for me was dead, as it should be.” “And you didn’t try to see if you still had power to move him?” Mark said ironically, while Helen’s eyes flashed with anger. “What do you take me for? I had been divorced and widowed as I supposed. I was Judge Prescott’s wife, and we met almost as strangers. I would as soon think of moving the Sphinx, as I used to call him, as of moving Craig Mason. Are you satisfied?” Mark bowed and asked, “What has Fanny’s engagement with Craig’s son to do with her going to Inez?” “Much,” Helen replied. “The Masons are very proud, and I don’t know what the result would be if they knew of your change of name and of a daughter who would claim relationship with Roy. Leave Fanny alone, I beg, and go your way.” She was standing before him with tears in her eyes which looked just as beautiful as they had looked twenty years ago, and he might have yielded had there been no one but himself to consider. When he remembered Inez he was firm as a rock. “We will let Fanny decide. I will wait for her,” he said, and turned to leave the room. Helen called him back. She knew the result if the matter were left to Fanny. Nothing could keep her from Inez. “Mark,” she said again, going close to him and putting her hand on his arm. He felt it through his coat sleeve and wanted to take it and wanted to shake it off. He did neither and said to her, “Well, what is it?” “You are a man of honor,” she replied. He knew he wasn’t, but rejoined, “Well?” “And you are a gentleman,” she continued.