her guardian were in truth the
central figures.

Helena in white, playing tennis; Helena with a cigarette, resting between
her sets, and chaffing with a ring of dazzled young men; Helena talking
wild nonsense with Geoffrey French, for the express purpose of shocking
Lady Mary Chance; and the next minute listening with a deference graceful
enough to turn even the seasoned head of a warrior to a grey-haired
general describing the taking of the Vimy Ridge; and finally, Helena,
holding a dancing class under the cedars on the yellow smoothness of the
lawn, after tea, for such young men as panted to conquer the mysteries of
"hesitation" or jazzing, and were ardently courting instruction in the
desperate hope of capturing their teacher for a dance that night:--it was
on these various avatars of Helena that the whole party turned; and Lady
Mary indignantly felt that there was no escaping the young woman.

"Why do you let her smoke--and paint--and _swear_--I declare I heard her
swear!" she said in Buntingford's ear, as the dressing-bell rang, and he
was escorting her to the house. "And mark my words, Philip--men may be
amused by that kind of girl, but they won't marry her."

Buntingford laughed.

"As Helena's guardian I'm not particularly anxious about that!"

"Ah, no doubt, she tells you people propose to her--but is it true?"
snapped Lady Mary.

"You imagine that Helena tells me of her proposals?" said Buntingford,
wondering.

"My dear Philip, don't pose! Isn't that the special function of a
guardian?"

"It may be. But, if so, Helena has never given me the chance of
performing it."

"I told you so! Men will flirt with her, but they _don't_ propose to
her!" said Lady Mary triumphantly.

Buntingford, smiling, let her have the last word, as he asked Mrs. Friend
to show her to her room.

Meanwhile the gardens were deserted, save for a couple of gardeners and
an electrician, who were laying some wires for the illumination of the
rose-garden in front of the drawing-room, and Geoffrey French, who was in
a boat, lazily drifting across the pond, and reading a volume of poems by
a friend which he had brought down with him. The evening was fast
declining; and from the shadow of the deep wood which bordered the
western edge of the pond he looked out on the sunset glow as it climbed
the eastern hill, transfiguring the ridge, and leaving a rich twilight in
the valley below. The tranquillity of the water, the silence of the
w