"Who else is coming for the week-end?"

Instantly Helena's mood dissolved in laughter. She came to perch herself
on the arm of Mrs. Friend's chair.

"There--now let's forget my tiresome guardian. I promised to tell you
about my 'boys.' Well, there are two of them coming--and Geoffrey French,
besides a nephew of Buntingford's, who'll have this property and most of
the money some day, always supposing this tyrant of mine doesn't marry,
which of course any reasonable man would. Well--there's Peter Dale--the
dearest, prettiest little fellow you ever saw. He was aide-de-camp to
Lord Brent in the war--_very_ smart--up to everything. He's demobbed, and
has gone into the City. Horribly rich already, and will now, of course,
make another pile. He dreadfully wants to marry me--but--" she shook her
head with emphasis--"No!--it wouldn't do. He tries to kiss me sometimes.
I didn't mind it at first. But I've told him not to do it again. Then
there's Julian--Julian Horne--Balliol--awfully clever"--she checked off
the various items on her fingers--"as poor as a rat--a Socialist, of
course--they all are, that kind--but a real one--not like Geoffrey
French, who's a sham, though he is in the House, and has joined the
Labour party. You see"--her tone grew suddenly serious--"I don't reckon
Geoffrey French among my boys."

"He's too old?"

"Oh, he's not so very old. But--I don't think he likes me very much--and
I'm not sure whether I like him. He's good fun, however--and he rags
Julian Horne splendidly. That's one of his chief functions--and another
is, to take a hand in my education--when I allow him--and when Julian
isn't about. They both tell me what to read. Julian tells me to read