that's all! What's there in that?"

And the girl sat up straight, dropping her slim, white feet, while her
great eyes challenged her companion to say a word in defence of her
guardian. Mrs. Friend's head was turning.

"But it was surely wrong and foolish--" she began. Helena
interrupted her.

"I daresay it was," she said impatiently, "but that's not my affair. It's
Lord Donald's. I'm not responsible for him. But he's done nothing that I
know of to make _me_ cut him--and I won't! He told me all about it quite
frankly. I said I'd stick by him--and I will."

"And Sir Luke Preston is a friend of Lord Buntingford's?"

"Yes--" said Helena unwillingly--"I suppose he is. I didn't know. Perhaps
I wouldn't have asked Donald if I'd known. But I did ask him, and he
accepted. And now Buntingford's going to insult him publicly. And that I
won't stand--I vow I won't! It's insulting me too!"

And springing up, she began a stormy pacing of the room, her white gown
falling back from her neck and throat, and her hair floating behind her.
Mrs. Friend had begun to collect herself. In the few hours she had passed
under Lord Buntingford's roof she seemed to herself to have been passing
through a forcing house. Qualities she had never dreamed of possessing or
claiming she must somehow show, or give up the game. Unless she could
understand and get hold of this wholly unexpected situation, as Helena
presented it, she might as well re-pack her box, and order the village
fly for departure.