ne--please understand!--I can't help you to plot against
Lord Buntingford. You must see I can't. He's my employer and your
guardian. If I helped you to do what he disapproves I should simply be
doing a dishonourable thing."

"Yes," said Helena reflectively. "Of course I see that. It's awkward. I
suppose you promised and vowed a great many things--like one's godmothers
and godfathers?"

"No, I didn't promise anything--except that I would go out with you, make
myself useful to you, if I could--and help you with foreign languages."

"Goody," said Helena. "Do you _really_ know French--and German?" The tone
was incredulous. "I wish I did."

"Well, I was two years in France, and a year and a half in Germany when I
was a girl. My parents wanted me to be a governess."

"And then you married?"

"Yes--just the year before the war."

"And your husband was killed?" The tone was low and soft. Mrs. Friend
gave a mute assent. Suddenly Helena laid an arm round the little
woman's neck.

"I want you to be friends with me--will you? I hated the thought of a
chaperon--I may as well tell you frankly. I thought I should probably
quarrel with you in a week. That was before I arrived. Then when I saw
you, I suddenly felt--'I shall like her! I'm glad she's here--I shan't
mind telling her my affairs.' I suppose it was because you looked
so--well, so meek and mild--so different from me--as though a puff would
blow you away. One can't account for those things, can one? Do tell me
your Christian name! I won't call you by it--if you don't like it."

"My name is Lucy," said Mrs. Friend faintly. There was something so
seductive in the neighbourhood of the girl's warm youth and in the new
sweetness of her voice that she could not make any further defence of her
"dignity."

"I might have guessed Lucy. It's just like you," said the girl
triumphantly. "Wordsworth's Lucy--do you remember her?--'A violet by a
mossy stone'--That's you exactly. I _adore_ Wordsworth. Do you care
about poetry?"

The eager eyes looked peremptorily into hers.

"Yes," said Mrs. Friend shyly--"I'm very fond of some things. But you'd
think them old-fashioned!"

"What--Byron?--Shelley? They're never old-fashioned!"

"I never read much of them. But--I love Tennyson--and Mrs. Browning."

Helena made a face--

"Oh, I don't care a hang for her. She's so dreadfully pious and
sentimental. I laughed till I cried over 'Aurora Leigh.' But now--French
things! If you lived