that Mawson was looking after her sister, who was liable to
slight fainting attacks at inconvenient moments. But how to find their
carriage! She had looked for a servant in vain, and Buntingford was
nowhere to be seen. French could do no less than offer to assist; and
Helena, biting her lip, despatched him. "I will wait for you at the
boathouse."

He rushed off, with Cynthia toiling after him, and Helena descended to
the lake. As she neared the little landing stage, a boat approached it,
containing Buntingford, and two or three of his guests.

"Hullo, Helena, what have you done with Geoffrey?"

She explained. "We were just coming down for a row."

"All right. I'll take you on till he comes. Jump in!"

She obeyed, and they were soon halfway towards the further side. But
about the middle of the lake Buntingford was seized with belated
compunction that he had not done his host's duty to his queer,
inarticulate cousin, Lady Georgina. "I suppose I ought to have gone to
look after her?"

"Not at all," said Helena coolly. "I believe she does it often. She can't
want more than Lady Cynthia--_and_ Geoffrey--_and_ Mawson. People
shouldn't be pampered!"

Her impertinence was so alluring as she sat opposite to him, trailing
both hands in the water, that Buntingford submitted. There was a
momentary silence. Then Helena said:

"Lady Cynthia came to see me the other day. Did you send her?"

"Of course. I wanted you to make friends."

"That we should never do! We were simply born to dislike each other."

"I never heard anything so unreasonable!" said Buntingford warmly.
"Cynthia is a very good creature, and can be excellent company."

Helena gave a shrug.

"What does all that matter?" she said slowly--"when one has
instincts--and intuitions. No!--don't let's talk any more about Lady
Cynthia. But--there's something--please, Cousin Philip--I want to say--I
may as well say it now."

He looked at her rather astonished, and, dimly as he saw her in
the shadow they had just entered, it seemed to him that her aspect
had changed.

"What is it? I hope nothing serious."

"Yes--it is serious, to me. I hate apologizing!--I always have."

"My dear Helena!--why should you apologize? For goodness' sake, don't!
Think better of it."

"I've got to do it," she said firmly, "Cousin Philip, you were quite
right about that man, Jim Donald, and I was quite wrong. He's a beast,
and I loathe the thought of having danced with him--there!--