"It is fired so much better than the last miserable failure," observed
she, going to a shelf and reaching after a dusty vase, massive and
fantastic, which had been ruined in the kiln.

"Let me help you," Herman said.

But she had already loosened the vase, which proved heavier than she
expected, and it was only by darting forward, and throwing his arms
about her, that the sculptor was enabled to save her from a severe
blow. The vase fell crashing to the floor, breaking into heavy shards,
rattling the windows and the casts upon the wall by the concussion.

An exclamation escaped him. He had drawn Mrs. Greyson backward, and for
a brief instant, held her in his strong clasp. It was an accident which
to mere acquaintances might mean nothing; to lovers, every thing.
Herman was for a moment pale with the fear that Helen might be injured;
then the hot blood surged into his cheeks as he released his hold and
stepped back, He bent over the fragments of the vase that she might not
see his face, and by so doing, as he reflected afterward, he failed to
perceive what was her expression. He straightened himself with an
impetuous movement, and came a step nearer.

"How can you be so careless?" he demanded, almost with irritation. "It
might have killed you."

"I did not remember that it was so heavy," she returned, a little pale
and panting. "Do you think I was trying to pull it on my head? I am
very much obliged, though. You have saved me a heavy blow at least.
There is not much left of that unlucky vase. It was always
ill-starred."