grey-haired woman, who was Lady Mary Chance; Cynthia and Georgina Welwyn,
and the ill-dressed, arresting figure of Mr. Alcott. Not all were
Buntingford's guests; some were staying at the Cottage, some in another
neighbouring house; but Beechmark represented the headquarters of a
gathering of which Helena Pitstone and her guardian were in truth the
central figures.

Helena in white, playing tennis; Helena with a cigarette, resting between
her sets, and chaffing with a ring of dazzled young men; Helena talking
wild nonsense with Geoffrey French, for the express purpose of shocking
Lady Mary Chance; and the next minute listening with a deference graceful
enough to turn even the seasoned head of a warrior to a grey-haired
general describing the taking of the Vimy Ridge; and finally, Helena,
holding a dancing class under the cedars on the yellow smoothness of the
lawn, after tea, for such young men as panted to conquer the mysteries of
"hesitation" or jazzing, and were ardently courting instruction in the
desperate hope of capturing their teacher for a dance that night:--it was
on these various avatars of Helena that the whole party turned; and Lady
Mary indignantly felt that there was no escaping the young woman.

"Why do you let her smoke--and paint--and _swear_--I declare I heard her
swear!" she said in Buntingford's ear, as the dressing-bell rang, and he
was escorting her to the house. "And mark my words, Philip--men may be
amused by that kind of girl, but they won't marry her."

Buntingford laughed.

"As Helena's guardian I'm not particularly anxious about that!"

"Ah, no doubt, she tells you people propose to her--but is it true?"