own instinct guided her and her refinement of nature compelled from others a response which avoided the vulgar. People felt they must be different with Helène, so that they chose their words in speaking to her. They felt they must be on their best behavior with her.
Spring grew into summer, the more than benevolent summer of New York. The girls in Madame Lucile’s employ blossomed in colors and gowns befitting the season; but Helène made no change in her own dress. She retained her sombre black despite Margaret’s pleadings and Madame’s hints. And with it all she bloomed like a rare flower amid the commoner plants. Margaret would put on an air of chagrin and talk of the anxiety Helène was to her; but none the less she was exceedingly proud of her protegée. To her friends she would in mock despair say: “What chance has any girl with Helène, I should like to know?”
On their occasional visits to Art Exhibitions or the