"Oh, no, no, you can't!" cried Mrs. Friend in distress. "You can't
treat your guardian like that! Do tell me what it's all about!" And
bending forward, she laid her two small hands entreatingly on the
girl's knee. She looked so frail and pitiful as she did so, in her
plain black, that Helena was momentarily touched. For the first time
her new chaperon appeared to her as something else than a mere receiver
into which, or at which, it suited her to talk. She laid her own hand
soothingly on Mrs. Friend's.

"Of course I'll tell you. I really don't mean to be nasty to you. But all
the same I warn you that it's no good trying to stop me, when I've made
up my mind. Well, now, for Donald. I know, of course, what Cousin Philip
means. Donald ran away with the wife of a friend of his--of
Buntingford's, I mean--three or four weeks ago."

Mrs. Friend gasped. The modern young woman was becoming altogether too
much for her. She could only repeat foolishly--"ran away?"

"Yes, ran away. There was no harm done. Sir Luke Preston--that's the
husband--followed them and caught them--and made her go back with him.
But Donald didn't mean any mischief. She'd quarrelled with Sir
Luke--she's an empty-headed little fluffy thing. I know her a little--and
she dared Donald to run away with her--for a lark. So he took her on. He
didn't mean anything horrid. I don't believe he's that sort. They were
going down to his yacht at Southampton--there were several other friends
of his on the yacht--and they meant to give Sir Luke a fright--just show
him that he couldn't bully her as he had been doing--being sticky and
stupid about her friends, just as Cousin Philip wants to be about
mine--and quarrelling about her dress-bills--and a lot of things. Well,