"And next week there'll be frost, and you'll be shivering over the fire,"
he threw at her, in a sarcastic voice.

"Well, even that--would be nicer--than London," she said slowly. "I never
imagined I should like the country so much. Of course I wish there was
more to do. I told Philip so last night."

"And what did he say?"

But she suddenly flushed and evaded the question.

"Oh, well, he hadn't much to say," said Helena, looking a little
conscious. "Anyway, I'm getting a little education. Mrs. Friend's
brushing up my French--which is vile. And I do some reading every week
for Philip--and some drawing. By the way"--she turned upon her
companion--"do you know his drawings?--they're just ripping! He must have
been an awfully good artist. But I've only just got him to show me his
things. He never talks of them himself."

"I've never seen one. His oldest friends can hardly remember that time in
his life. He seems to want to forget it."

"Well, naturally!" said Helena, with an energy that astonished her
listener; but before he could probe what she meant, she stooped over him:

"Geoffrey!"

"Yes!"