it is a day's journey to
find it," said Helena, re-entering her own bedroom, where she had left
Mrs. Friend in a dimity-covered arm-chair by the window, while she
reconnoitred. "Also, the water is only a point or two above freezing--and
as I like boiling--"

She threw herself down on the floor by Mrs. Friend's side. All her
movements had a curious certainty and grace like those of a beautiful
animal, but the 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 chaperoning anything so independent and self-confident.
But the girl clearly wished to make friends with her new companion, and
began eagerly to ask questions.

"How did you hear of me? Do you mind telling me?"

"Just through an agency," said Mrs. Friend, flushing a little. "I wanted
to leave the situation I was in, and the agency told me Lord Buntingford
was looking for a companion for his ward, and I was to go and see Lady
Mary Chance--"

The girl's merry laugh broke out:

"Oh, I know Mary Chance--twenty pokers up her backbone! I should have
thought--"

Then she stopped, looking intently at Mrs. Friend, her brows drawn
together over her brilliant eyes.

"What would you have thought?" Mrs. Friend enquired, as the silence
continued.

"Well--that if she was going to recommend somebody to Cousin Philip--to
look after me, she would never have been content with anything short of a
Prussian grenadier in petticoats. She thinks me a demon. She won't let
her daughters go about with me. I can't imagine how she ever fixed upon
anyone so--"

"So what?" said Mrs. Friend, after a moment, nervously. Lost in the big
white arm-chair, her small hand propping her small face and head, she
looked even frailer than she had looked in the library.

"Well, nobody would ever take you for my jailer, would they?" said
Helena, surveying her.

Mrs. Friend laughed--a ghost of a laugh, which yet seemed to have some
fun in it, far away.

"Does this seem to you like prison?"

"This house? Oh, no. Of course I shall do just as I like in it. I have
only come because--well, my poor Mummy made a great 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 have promised. It is a great tyranny, you know--the
tyranny of sick people. I wonder whether one ought to give in to her?"

The girl looked up coolly. Mrs. Friend felt as though she had bee