say. I like
the country best, and I would really rather go home."

Lady Thurwell considered for a full minute. Being a very juvenile
matron, she had by no means enjoyed her _role_ as chaperon to an
acknowledged beauty. She had offered it purely out of good nature, and
because, although only related by marriage--Lord Thurwell was the elder
brother of Mr. Thurwell, of Thurwell Court, and the head of the
family--still there was no one else to perform such a service for Helen.
But if Helen did really not care for it, and wished to return to her
country life, why there was no necessity for her to make a martyr of
herself any longer.

"You really mean this, Helen?"

"I do indeed, aunt."

"Then it is settled. Make your own arrangements. I have liked having
you, child, and whenever you choose to come to me again you will be
welcome. But of course, it is not everyone who cares for town life, and
if you do not, you are quite right to detach yourself from it. I'm
afraid I know several young men who'll take your sudden flight very much
to heart; and one who isn't particularly young."

"Nonsense!" laughed her niece. "There'll be no mourning on my account."

"We shall see," remarked Lady Thurwell, sententiously. "If one person
does not find his way down to Thurwell Court after you before long, I
shall be surprised."

"Please don't let anyone do anything so stupid, aunt," pleaded Helen
with sudden warmth. "It would be--no good."

Lady Thurwell lifted her eyebrows, and looked at her niece with a
curious little smile.

"Who is it?" she asked quietly.

But Helen only laughed. Her secret was too precious to part with--yet.

CHAPTER XXVII

MR. THURWELL MAKES SOME INQUIRIES

And so Helen had her own way, and went back to her home on the moors,
where Mr. Thurwell, who had just finished his hunting season, was very
glad to see her, although not a little surprised. But she told him no
more than she had told her aunt, that she had no taste for London life.
The time would soon come when he would know the whole truth, but until
her lover's return the secret was her own.

She had one hasty note from him, posted in Paris on his way to Italy,
and though there were only a few lines in it, she treasured up the
little scrap of paper very tenderly, for, such as it was, it was her
first love letter. He had given her an address in the small town to
which he was bound, and she noticed, with a slight wonder at the
coincidence, th