a joke of it.
But he is a mean skunk! I've found out since that he wanted to buy
Preston out for the part Preston had taken in another affair. There's a
pretty case coming on directly, with Jim for hero. You have heard of it."

"No," said Buntingford curtly; "but in any case nothing would have
induced me to have him here. Preston's a friend of mine. So when Helena
told me at dinner she had asked him for Saturday, I had to tell her I
should telegraph to him to-morrow morning not to come. She was angry,
of course."

Captain Lodge gave a low whistle. "Of course she doesn't know. But I
think you would be wise to stop it. And I remember now she danced all
night with him at the Arts Ball!"

CHAPTER III

There was a light tap on Mrs. Friend's door. She said "Come in" rather
unwillingly. Some time had elapsed since she had seen Helena's fluttering
white disappear into the corridor beyond her room; and she had nourished
a secret hope that the appointment had been forgotten. But the door
opened slightly. Mrs. Friend saw first a smiling face, finger on lip.
Then the girl slipped in, and closed the door with caution.

"I don't want that 'very magnificent three-tailed Bashaw' to know we are
discussing him. He's somewhere still."

"What did you say?" asked Mrs. Friend, puzzled.

"Oh, it's only a line of an old poem--I don't know by whom--my father
used to quote it. Well, now--did you see what happened at dinner?"

Helena had established herself comfortably in a capacious arm-chair
opposite Mrs. Friend, tucking her feet under her. She was in a white
dressing-gown, and she had hastily tied a white scarf round her loosened
hair. In the dim light of a couple of candles her beauty made an even
more exciting impression on the woman watching her than it had done in
the lamp-lit drawing-room.

"It's war!" she said firmly, "war between Buntingford and me. I'm sorry
it's come so soon--the very first evening!--and I know it'll be beastly
for you--but I can't help it. I _won't_ be dictated to. If I'm not
twenty-one, I'm old enough to choose my own friends; and if Buntingford
chooses to boycott them, he must take the consequences." And throwing her
white arms above her head, her eyes looked out from the frame of
them--eyes sparkling with pride and will.

Mrs. Friend begged for an explanation.

"Well, I happened to tell him that I had invited Lord Donald for Sunday.
I'll tell you about Lord Donald presently--and he simply--beh