“Old Burnaby would not think of allowing her to marry a penniless baronet,” he said smiling.

Blanche looked across at him quickly.  “Good and obedient as she is to both those old things, I don’t think they’d be able to influence Helen Brabazon in such a thing as marriage.”

“Well, you may be right,” said Varick, doubtfully.

He felt strongly tempted to take Blanche into his confidence; to tell her, frankly, that he wished to marry Helen.  Yet some obscure instinct held him back.  Women, even the most sensible women, are so damned sentimental!  So he told himself.  Lately he had had the unpleasant, disconcerting feeling that whenever Helen looked at him she thought of “poor Milly.”

“Still, I don’t envy Sir Lyon his wooing,” went on Blanche.  “Helen is a girl who’ll take a long time to make up her mind, and who will weigh all the pros and cons.”

“Then you don’t think,” said Varick in a low tone, “that she would ever be swept off her feet?”

At one time he had felt sure she would be.

“By a grand passion?  My dear Lionel, what an absurd idea!  But hush—­”

The door opened, and the object of their discussion came in.  Helen Brabazon always looked especially well as breakfast.  It was her hour.

“How’s Bubbles this morning?” she asked.

And Blanche felt rather guilty.  She hadn’t been into Bubbles’ room; her mind had been too full of other things.  “She’s going on very well,” she answered composedly.  “I think she might get up to-morrow, in spite of Dr. Panton.”  And then, for she felt Varick was “willing” her to say it:  “I do hope that you are going to stay on till Saturday, even if your aunt has to go away this afternoon.”

“Yes,” said Helen, and the colour deepened a little in her cheeks.  “Yes, I’ve persuaded Auntie to let me stay on till you and Bubbles come up to London.  It’s only two days, after all.”

“I am glad.”  There was a genuine thrill of satisfaction in Varick’s voice.  This meant that he and the girl would be practically alone together all to-morrow and Friday.

“I think Sir Lyon could manage to stay on too, if you ask him.”  Helen smiled guilelessly at her host.  “I saw him just now.  He and Dr. Panton were taking Span round to the kitchen, and when I said I was staying on, Sir Lyon said he thought he could stay on too, just till Saturday morning.”

Blanche could not forbear giving a covert glance of triumph at Varick’s surprised and annoyed face.  “Of course,” she said quickly, “we shall be delighted to have Sir Lyon a little longer.  I thought by what he said that he was absolutely obliged to go away to-day, by the same train as you and Miss Burnaby.”

“He certainly said so,” observed Varick coldly.

And then, for Blanche Farrow was above all things a woman of the world, when the other two men came in she made everything quite easy for Sir Lyon, pressing him to stay on, as if she had only just thought of it.  But she noticed, with covert amusement, that he was very unlike his usual cool, collected self.  He actually looked sheepish—­yes, that was the only word for it!  Also, he made rather a favour of staying.  “I shall have to telegraph,” he said; “for I’d made all my arrangements to go back this afternoon.”