irly full biography of Jim Donald, as he happened to know
it? He revolted against the notion, astonished to find how strong certain
old-fashioned instincts still were in his composition. And, after all, he
had said a good deal the night before, at dinner, when Helena's
invitation to a man he despised as a coward and a libertine had been
first sprung upon him. There really was only one way out. He took it.

"Well, Helena, I'm very sorry," he said slowly. "Your views are very
interesting. I should like some day to discuss them with you. But the
immediate business is to stop this Ritz plan. You really won't stop it
yourself?"

"Certainly not!" said Helena, her breath fluttering.

"Well, then, I must write to Donald myself. I happen to possess the means
of making it impossible for him to meet you at the Ritz next Wednesday,
Helena; and I shall use them. You must make some other arrangement."

"What means?" she demanded. She had turned very pale.

"Ah, no!--that you must leave to me. Look here, Helena"--his tone
softened--"can't we shake hands on it, and make up? I do hate quarrelling
with your mother's daughter."

Involuntarily, through all her rage, Helena was struck by the extreme
sensitiveness of the face opposite her--a sensitiveness often disguised
by the powerful general effect of the man's head and eyes. In a calmer
mood she might have said to herself that only some past suffering could
have produced it. At the moment, however, she was incapable of anything
but passionate resentment.

All the same there was present in her own mind an ideal of what the
action and bearing of a girl in her position should be, which, with the
help of pride, would not allow her to drift into mere temper. She put her
hands firmly behind her; so that Buntingford was forced to withdraw his;
but she kept her self-possession.

"I don't see what there is but quarrelling before us, Cousin Philip, if
you are to proceed on these lines. Are you really going to keep me to
my promise?"

"To let me take care of you--for these two years? It was not a promise to
me, Helena."

The girl's calm a little broke down.

"Mummy would never have made me give it," she said fiercely, "if she
had known--"

"Well, you can't ask her now," he said gently. "Hadn't we better make the
best of it?"

She scorned to reply. He opened the door for her, and she swept
through it.

Left to himself, Buntingford gave a great stretch.

"That was strenuous!"--he