Fenton with more than the friendliness of acquaintanceship. When Philip
looked up with a question in his eyes, however, she was already on her
guard.
"The weather is so doleful," she hastened to add, "that I should think
that even philanthropy might lose its power of amusing."
"Cousin Helen," returned he, with some hesitation, "I do not like to
hear you speak in that way of what is part of my life work."
She smiled; then sighed and shook her head.
"My dear Philip," replied she, "I had certainly no intention of
wounding you; and if you'll let me say so, I think you are going out of
your way to find cause of offense. Philanthropy isn't a thing so sacred
that it is not to be spoken of with a smile."
"No; but"--
"But what?"
He did not answer at once. He put down his empty cup absently, and then
sat staring into the fire as if he were trying there to read the
solution of the riddle of existence.
"Come," Helen observed, after waiting for a little, "you have something
on your mind. What is it? It will do you good to tell it, even if I'm
not clever enough to help you."
"I am sure that you could help me," he began eagerly; and then in a
changed voice he added, "if anybody could.
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