history, and gives me lists of books. Geoffrey talks economics--and
philosophy--and I adore it--he talks so well. He gave me Bergson the
other day. Have you ever read any of him?"

"Never," said Mrs. Friend, bewildered. "Who is he?"

Helena's laugh woke the echoes of the room. But she checked it at once.

"I don't want _him_ to think we're plotting," she said in a
stage-whisper, looking round her. "If I do anything I want to spring
it on him!"

"Dear Miss Pitstone--please understand!--I can't help you to plot against
Lord Buntingford. You must see I can't. He's my employer and your
guardian. If I helped you to do what he disapproves I should simply be
doing a dishonourable thing."

"Yes," said Helena reflectively. "Of course I see that. It's awkward. I
suppose you promised and vowed a great many things--like one's godmothers
and godfathers?"

"No, I didn't promise anything--except that I would go out with you, make
myself useful to you, if I could--and help you with foreign languages."

"Goody," said Helena. "Do you _really_ know French--and German?" The tone
was incredulous. "I wish I did."

"Well, I was two years in France, and a year and a half in Germany when I
was a girl. My parents wanted me to be a governess."