actually confessed his plight to Mrs. Friend!

As he lay floating between the green vault above, and the green weedy
depths below, his thoughts searched the five weeks that lay between him
and that first week-end when he had scolded Helena for her offences. It
seemed to him that his love for her had first begun that day of the
Dansworth riot. She had provoked and interested him before that--but
rather as a raw self-willed child--a "flapper" whose extraordinary beauty
gave her a distinction she had done nothing to earn. But every moment in
that Dansworth day was clear in memory:--the grave young face behind the
steering-wheel, the perfect lips compressed, the eyes intent upon their
task, the girl's courage and self-command. Still more the patient Helena
who waited for him at the farm--the grateful exultant look when he said
"Come"--and every detail of the scene in Dansworth:--Helena with her most
professional air, driving through soldiers and police, Helena helping to
carry and place the two wounded men, and that smiling "good-bye" she had
thrown him as she drove away with Buntingford beside her.

The young man moved restlessly; and the light boat was set rocking. It
was curious how he too, like Lucy Friend, only from another point of
view, was beginning to reflect on the new intimacy that seemed to be
developing between Buntingford and his ward. Philip of course was an
awfully good fellow, and Helena was just finding it out; what else was
there in it? But the jealous pang roused by the thought of Buntingford,
once felt, persisted. Not for a moment did French doubt the honour or the
integrity of a man, who had done him personally many a kindness, and had
moreover given him some reason to think---(he recalled the odd little
note he had received from Buntingford before Helena's first
week-end)--that if he were to fall in love with Helena, his suit would be
favourably watched by Helena's guardian. He could recall moreover one or