She stopped; from his arm withdrew her hand. "Please--I think you had
better go. Please go. Oh, I shall hate myself for behaving like this."

So unhappy she was that George immediately planned her a backdoor of
excuse. "But you have no occasion to blame yourself," he told her.
"You've had an adventure--naturally you're shaken a bit."

She was relieved to think he had misunderstood her agitation. "Yes, an
adventure," she said, "that's it. And I haven't had an adventure for
years, so naturally--But, please, I think you had better go. If my--
my friend saw me with you like this she would be angry--oh, very
angry."

"But why? She saw you fall. She saw me save you."

"You don't understand. She is not exactly my friend; she is my--my
employer. I'm a mother's-help."

The mirth that never lay deep beneath those blue eyes of hers was
sparkling up now; the soft, dark wings were fluttering no longer.

She continued: "A mother's-help. Doesn't that sound wretched? I'm
terribly slow at learning the mother's-help rules, but I'm positive of
this rule--mothers' helps may not shoot out of cabs and leave the
mother; it's such little help--you must see that?"

"But you will be less help still if you stay here for ever with your
hurt ankle--you must see that? I must stay with you or see you to your
home."