“Yes.  Let me help you, do, dearest.”

They wandered off to the kitchens, and while they were seated at the kitchen-table, sipping tea, side by side, Sarah said: 

“Now if you want an idea, I’ve got a really good one for you.”

“For me?  What sort of an idea?”

“I’ll tell you.  You know Mrs. Wiltshire is dead.”

“I don’t.  I didn’t even know there was a Mrs. Wiltshire.”

“Well, there was, and there isn’t any longer.  Mrs. Wiltshire was the main social prop of the old rector.  And the annual concert of the St. Luke’s Guild has always been held at her house, down at Shawport, you know.  Awfully poky!  But it was the custom since the Flood, and no one ever dared to hint at a change.  Now the concert was to have been next week but one, and she’s just gone and died, and the rector is wondering where he can hold it.  I met him this morning.  Why don’t you let him hold it here?  That would be a splendid way of opening your house—­Hall, I beg its pardon.  And you could introduce the beautiful eyes of your German butler to the entire neighbourhood.  Of course, I don’t know whether Mr. Ollerenshaw would like it.”

“Oh!” said Helen, without blenching, “uncle would do as I wish.”

She mused, in silence, during a number of seconds.

“The idea doesn’t appeal to you?” Sarah queried, disappointment in her tones.

“Yes, it does,” said Helen.  “But I must think it over.  Now, would you care to see the rest of the house?”

“I should love to.  Oh dear, I’ve left my handkerchief with my purse in the drawing-room.”

“Have mine!” said Helen, promptly.

But even after this final proof of intimate friendship, there still remained an obstinate trifle of insincerity in their relations that afternoon.  Helen was sure that Sarah Swetnam had paid the call specially to say something, and that the something had not yet been said.  And the apprehension of an impending scene gradually took possession of her nerves and disarranged them.  When they reached the attics, and were enjoying the glorious views of the moorland in the distance and of Wilbraham Water in the immediate foreground, Helen said, very suddenly: 

“Will the rector be in this afternoon?”

“I should say so.  Why?”

“I was thinking we might walk down there together, and I could suggest to him at once about having the concert here.”

Sarah clapped her hands.  “Then you’ve decided?”

“Certainly.”

“How funny you are, Nell, with your decisions!”

In Helen’s bedroom, amid her wardrobe, there was no chance of dangerous topics, the attention being monopolised by one subject, and that a safe one.

At last they went out together, two models of style and deportment, and Helen pulled to the great front door with a loud echoing clang.

“Fancy that place being all empty.  Aren’t you afraid of sleeping there while your uncle is away?”