"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" she said presently, as the
white skirts swept past her.

"Mind! Not a bit. What do you want to know?"

"Are you in love with Lord Donald?"

Helena laughed.

"If I were, do you think I'd let him run away with Lady Preston or
anybody else? Not at all! Lord Donald's just one of the men I like
talking to. He amuses me. He's very smart. He knows everybody. He's no
worse than anybody else. He did all sorts of plucky things in the war. I
don't ask Buntingford to like him, of course. He isn't his sort. But he
really might let me alone!"

"But you asked him to stay in Lord Buntingford's house--and without
consulting--"

"Well--and it's going to be _my_ house, too, for two years--if I can
possibly bear it. When Mummy begged me, I told Buntingford my conditions.
And he's broken them!"

And standing still, the tempestuous creature drew herself to her full
height, her arms rigid by her side--a tragic-comic figure in the dim
illumination of the two guttering candles.

Mrs. Friend attempted a diversion.