Helena sitting demurely in the sitting-room, pretending to read
a magazine, but really, or so it seemed to Mrs. Friend, keeping both eyes
and ears open for events.

"I'm trying to get ready for Julian--" she said impatiently, throwing
away her book. "He sent me his article in the _Market Place_, but it's so
stiff that I can't make head or tail of it. I like to hear him talk--but
he doesn't write English."

Mrs. Friend took up the magazine, and perceived a marked item in the
table of contents--"A New Theory of Value."

"What does it mean?" she asked.

"Oh, I wish I knew!" said Helena, with a little yawn. "And then he
changes so. Last year he made me read Meredith--the novels, I mean. _One
of Our Conquerors_, he vowed, was the finest thing ever written. He
scoffed at me for liking _Diana_ and _Richard Feverel_ better, because
they were easier. And _now_, nothing's bad enough for Meredith's 'stilted
nonsense'--'characters without a spark of life in them'--'horrible
mannerisms'--you should hear him. Except the poems--ah, except the poems!
He daren't touch them. I say--do you know the 'Hymn to Colour'?" The
girl's eager eyes questioned her companion. Her face in a moment was all
softness and passion.

Mrs. Friend shook her head. The nature and deficiencies of her own
education were becoming terribly plain to her with every hour in
Helena's company.

Helena sprang up, fetched the book, put Mrs. Friend forcibly into an
arm-chair, and read aloud. Mrs. Friend listened with all her ears, and
was at the end, like Faust, no wiser than before. What did it all mean?
She groped, dazzled, among the Meredithian mists and splendours. But
Helena read with a growing excitement, as though the flashing
mysterious verse were part of her very being. When the last stanza was
done, she flung herself fiercely down on a stool at Mrs. Friend's feet,
breathing fast:

"Glorious!--oh, glorious!--

"Look now where Colour, the soul's bridegroom, makes
The House of Heaven splendid for the Bride."

She turned to look up at the little figure in the chair, half laughing,
half passionate: "You do understand, don't you?" Mrs. Friend again shook
her head despairingly.

"It sounds wonderful--but I haven't a notion what it means!" Helena
laughed again, but without a touch of mockery.

"One has to be taught--coached--regularly coached. Julian coached me."

"What is meant by Colour?" asked Mrs. Friend faintly.

"Colour is Passion, Beauty, Freedom