all that time in France, you must have read French
poetry. Alfred de Musset?--Madame de Noailles?"

Mrs. Friend shook her head.

"We went to lectures. I learnt a great deal of Racine--a little Victor
Hugo--and Rostand--because the people I boarded with took me to
'Cyrano'!"

"Ah, Rostand--" cried Helena, springing up. "Well, of course he's _vieux
jeu_ now. The best people make mock of him. Julian does. I don't care--he
gives me thrills down my back, and I love him. But then _panache_ means a
good deal to me. And Julian doesn't care a bit. He despises people who
talk about glory and honour--and that kind of thing. Well--Lucy--"

She stopped mischievously, her head on one side.

"Sorry!--but it slipped out. Lucy--good-night."

Mrs. Friend hurriedly caught hold of her.

"And you won't do anything hasty--about Lord Donald?"

"Oh, I can't promise anything. One must stand by one's friends. One
simply must. But I'll take care Cousin Philip doesn't blame you."

"If I'm no use, you know--I can't stay."

"No use to Cousin Philip, you mean, in policing me?" said Helena, with a
good-humoured laugh. "Well, we'll talk about it again to-morrow.
Good-night--Lucy!"

The sly gaiety of the voice was most disarming.

"Good-night, Miss Pitstone."

"No, that won't do. It's absurd! I never ask people to call me Helena,
unless I like them. I certainly never expected--there, I'll be
frank!--that I should want to ask you--the very first night too. But I do
want you to. Please, Lucy, call me Helena. _Please_!"

Mrs. Friend did as she was told.

"Sleep well," said Helena from the door. "I hope the housemaid's put
enough on your bed, and given you a hot water-bottle? If anything scares
you in the night, wake me--that is, if you can!" She disappeared.

Outside Mrs. Friend's door the old house was in darkness, save for a
single light in the hall, which burnt all night. The hall was the feature
of the house. A gallery ran round it supported by columns from below, and
spaced by answering columns which carried the roof. The bedrooms ran
round the hall, and opened into the gallery. The columns were of yellow
marble brought from Italy, and faded blue curtains hung between them.
Helena went cautiously to the balustrade, drew one of the blue curtains
round her, and looked down into the hall. Was everybody gone to bed? No.
There were movements in a distant room. Somebody coughed, and seemed to
be walking about. But she couldn't hear any ta