Helena

tering her own bedroom, where she had left Mrs. Friend in a dimity-covered arm-chair by the window,

e whole impression of her was still formidable to the gentle creature who was about to undertake what already seemed to her the absurd task of chaperon

r of me? Do you

leave the situation I was in, and the agency told me Lord Buntingford was lo

merry laugh

enty pokers up her backbon

y at Mrs. Friend, her brows drawn

ht?" Mrs. Friend enquired,

r have been content with anything short of a Prussian grenadier in petticoats. She thinks me a demo

he big white arm-chair, her small hand propping her small face an

er take you for my jai

survey

a laugh, which yet seemed to

eem to you l

eat point of it when she was ill, and I couldn't be a brute to her, so I promised. But I wonder whether I ought to hav

y. Mrs. Friend felt as t

er!" she said

e four or five months in London, at least; and when travelling abroad gets decent again, we are to go abroad-Rome, perhaps, next winter. And I am jolly well to ask my friends here, or in town-male and female-and Cousin Philip promised to be nice to them. He said, of course, 'Within limits.' But that we shall see. I'm

?" said Mrs.

her companion's looks with a grin. "It's our language now, you know-English-the language of us young

nd roused

for half an hour. Bu

ing?" said the girl bef

ination of black hair a

ny means as innoc

ver s

s as complex as you make 'em. Most women are in love with him, except me!" The brown eyes stared me

Mrs. Friend, w

forty-four if he's a day-more than double my

N

was awfully cut up. He used to come and sit with Mummy every day and pour out his woes. I suppose she was the only

othing. But she wa

and she was an art student on her own. An old uncle of Mummy's once told me that when Cousin Philip came back from abroad-she died abroad-after her death, he seemed altogether changed somehow. But he never, never speaks of her"-the girl swayed her slim body backwards and forwar

d down affectionately at her uni

ppose I've no righ

s your

er Mummy's death I should stay out my time, till I was demobbed. Awfully jolly time I had-on the whole

departing when

you ever heard of

d at the door, an

y-just about Buntingford's age-quite good-looking-quite clever-lives by herself, reads a great deal-runs the par

na laughed-the merry but very soft laugh Mrs. Friend had first heard in the hall-a

to anybody in this house! But Buntingford's quite he

" She looked round the room and at Helena vigorou

couldn't be b

me hel

I should bully you and detes

vival, too; for this world into which she had now stepped was one quite new to her. Yet when she had first shut herself up in Lancaster Gate she had never been conscious of any great difference between herself and other women or girls. She had lived a very quiet life in a quiet home before the war. Her father, a hard-working Civil Servant on a small income, and her mother, the daughter of a Wesleyan Minister, had brought her u

es, looking back, she was troubled to feel how shadowy he had become to her. Not in the region of emotion. She had pined for his fondness all these years; she pined for it still. But intellectually. If he had lived, how would he have felt towards all

ths after her husband's death her parents had both died, and she found herself alone in the world, and almost penniless. She was not strong enough for war work

he was not herself so very old, and to want to know-a hundred things! It had taken her five months, however, to make up her mind; and then at last she had gone to an agency-the only way she knew-and had braved the cold and purely selfish wrath of the household she was leaving. And now here she was in Lord Buntingford's house-Miss Helena Pitstone's chaperon. As she stood before her looking-glass, fastening

*

ad sent Mary flying down to the drawing-room to bring up some carnations she had noticed there. When these had been tucked into her belt, and the waves of her brown hair had been somehow pinned and coiled into a kind of order, and she had discovered and put on her mother's pearls, she was pleased with herself, or r

fore dinner, and she ran along t

rrow velvet carrying a round locket which was her chaperon's only ornament. Drawing back a little, she looked critically at the

you goin

Do you mind? Do let me. You look so ni

, while with a few soft tou

at yourself. Why should you make yourself look dowdy? I

Mrs. Friend's toilette, till the little woman, standing in uneasy astonishment before the gla

d, and putting back some of the quiet bands of hair. "You mustn't make me look s

telling me how old you are? And must I always call you 'Mrs. Friend'?

s-you'd better leave me all the dignity you can?" Laughter was playing r

-is a vain delusion. Nobody ever managed me! Oh, yes, my superior officer in the Women's Corps-she was master. But that was

ion opposite to her with its hands on

ve-again

hilip-if

again shoo

a with a grimace. "But never mind. I'm sure I s

?" asked Mrs. Friend, drawi

shocked! Oh, heavens, there's the gong! But we'll sit up to-night, if you're not sleepy, and I'll give you a complete catalogue of some of their qualifications-physical, intellectual, financial. Then you'll have the carte du pays. Two of them are coming to-mor

*

Buntingford; of an officer in uniform, resplendent in red tabs and decorations, talking to a spare grey-haired man, who might be supposed to be the

rish, the grey-haired man, and to the clergyman. Lady Cynthia bestowed on her a glance from a pair of prominent eyes, and a few civil remarks, Mr. Parish made her an old-fashioned bow, and hoped she had not found the journey too dusty

just come,

rived this

ook after Miss He

iend sm

. If she w

eyes were deep-set and tired; his scanty grizzled hair fell untidily over a furrowed brow; and his clothes were neither fresh nor well

end that Lord Buntingford only gave her divided attention. Meanwhile it was very evident that he himself was the centre of his own table, the person of whom everyone at it was fundamentally aware, however apparently busy with other people. She herself observed him much more closely than before, the mingling in his face of a kind of concealed impatience, an eagerness held in chains and expressed by his slight perpetual frown, with a courtesy and urb

he end their conversation languished a good deal, and Lady Cynthia must needs fall back on the stubby-haired boy to her right, who was learning agency b

ford?" said Mr. Alcott's rat

nd turned

aw him till t

th him, of course, occasionally. But this I do know, the world is uncommonly full of people-don't you

sudden gleam in her quiet little face, that rare or evanescent sprite of laugh

ott con

n him. At least, that's my experience. He's been awfully generous about land here-put a lot in my hands to distribute long before the war ended. Some of the neighbours about-other landlords-were very sick-thought he'd

afraid!" said

be. He's the kindest of men. It's extraordinarily kind of him-don't you think?"-the speaker

he slightest timid

ke a saint of him. He can be a dour man when he likes-and he and I fight about a good many things. I don't think he has m

end felt

onscious of the agitation in her tone. "Since m

ld her story, very simply and briefly. In the general cla

e things fresh. Whereas we-who have been through the ferment and the horror-" He broke off-"I was at the front, you see, for ne

humbly-"I'm afraid I kno

k on Mr. Parish, the agent, who, however, seemed to be absorbed in the amazing-and agreeable-fact that Lord Buntingford, though he drank no win

reported that "companions" were almost as difficult to find as kitchenmaids, and that she had done her best for him in finding a person of gentle manners and quiet antecedents. "Such people will soon be as rare as snakes in Ireland"-had been the concluding sentence in Lady Mary's le

itstone. Lord Buntingford was saying very little; but whatever he did say was having a remarkable effect on his neighbour. Then, before the table knew what it was all about, it was over. Lord Buntingford had turned resolutely away, a

tightening of the guardian's lip, the sudden stiffening of his ha

aughter and his guest-who had come with Mr. Parish, settled into a little cir

are of her, of the brilliance and power of the girl's beauty, and of the energy that like an aura seemed to envelop her personality. Lady Cynthia made several attempts to capture her, but in vain. Hele

flitted back to the rest of the company, and admirably set off by a deep red chair into which she had thrown herself, was soon flirting unashamedly with the two young men, with Mr. Parish and the Rector, taking them a

There is a moon, and it is warmer outside than in," said

ll me

ature low. But the scents of summer were already in the air-of grass and young leaf, and the first lilac. The old grey house with its haphazard outline and u

old me before dinner abo

. "You're sure it's

her la

himself!" He laughed. "H

! I've found out since

t Preston had taken in

rectly, with Jim for her

Preston's a friend of mine. So when Helena told me at dinner she had asked him for Saturday, I h

know. But I think you would be wise to stop it. And I rem