s mother,
and she told me an invitation came for the babe from some great house
last week, addressed to 'Miss Luton and partner'--whereon Lady Maud wrote
back--'My daughter has no partner and I shall be very happy to bring
her.' Rather a poke in the eye! Then there are the women of five or six
and twenty who have been through the war, and are not likely to give up
the freedom of it--ever again. That's all right. They'll take their own
risks. Many of them will prefer not to live at home again. They'll live
with a friend--and visit their people perhaps every day! But, then
there's _you_, Helena--the betwixt and between!--"

"Well--what about me?"

"You're neither a babe--nor a veteran."

"I'm nineteen and a half--and I've done a year and a half of war work--"

"Canteen--and driving? All right. Am I to give an opinion?"

"You will give it, whatever I say. And it's you all over--to give it,
before you've allowed me to explain anything."

"Oh, I know your point of view--" said Geoffrey, unperturbed--"know it by
heart. Haven't you dinned it into me at half a dozen dances lately?
No!--I'm entitled to my say--and here it is. Claim all the freedom you
like--but as you're _not_ twenty-five, but nineteen--let a good fellow
like Buntingford give you advice--and be thankful!"

"Prig!" said Helena, pelting him with a spray of wild cherry, which he
caught and put in his button-hole. "If that isn't preaching, I should
like to know what is!"

"Not at all. Unbiased opinion--civilly expressed. If you really were an
emancipated young woman, Helena, you'd take it so! But now--" his tone
changed--"let's come to business. What have you and Philip been
quarrelling about?"

Helena straightened her shoulders, as though to meet certain disapproval.

"Because--I asked Lord Donald to spend the week-end here--"

"You didn't!"

"I did; and Cousin Philip wired to him and forbade him the house.
Offence No. 1. Then as I intended all the same to see Jim, I told him I
would go up and lunch with him at the Ritz. Cousin Philip vows I shan't,
and he seems to have some underhand means of stopping it--I--I don't
know what--"

"Underhand! Philip! I say, Helena, I wonder whether you have any idea how
people who really know him think about Buntingford!"

"Oh, of course men back up men!"

"Stuff! It's really silly--abominable too--the way you talk of him--I
can't help saying it."

And this time it was Geoffrey's turn to look indignant. His long