“No, please don’t!” she said, with decision, warding off the girl’s meddling hand, and putting back some of the quiet bands of hair.  “You mustn’t make me look so unlike myself.  And besides—­I couldn’t live up to it!” Her shy smile broke out.

“Oh, yes, you could.  You’re quite nice-looking.  I wonder if you’d mind telling me how old you are?  And must I always call you ‘Mrs. Friend’?  It is so odd—­when everybody calls each other by their Christian names.”

“I don’t mind—­I don’t mind at all.  But don’t you think—­for both our sakes—­you’d better leave me all the dignity you can?” Laughter was playing round the speaker’s small pale lips, and Helena answered it with interest.

“Does that mean that you’ll have to manage me?  Did Cousin Philip tell you you must?  But that—­I may as well tell you at once—­is a vain delusion.  Nobody ever managed me!  Oh, yes, my superior officer in the Women’s Corps—­she was master.  But that was because I chose to make her so.  Now I’m on my own—­and all I can offer—­I’m afraid!—­is an alliance—­offensive and defensive.”

Mrs. Friend looked at the radiant vision opposite to her with its hands on its sides, and slowly shook her head.

“Offensive—­against whom?”

“Cousin Philip—­if necessary.”

Mrs. Friend again shook her head.

“Oh, you’re in his pocket already!” cried Helena with a grimace.  “But never mind.  I’m sure I shall like you.  You’ll come over to my side soon.”

“Why should I take any side?” asked Mrs. Friend, drawing on a pair of black gloves.

“Well, because”—­said Helena slowly—­“Cousin Philip doesn’t like some of my pals—­some of the men, I mean—­I go about with—­and we may quarrel about it.  The question is which of them I’m going to marry—­if I marry any of them.  And some of them are married.  Don’t look shocked!  Oh, heavens, there’s the gong!  But we’ll sit up to-night, if you’re not sleepy, and I’ll give you a complete catalogue of some of their qualifications—­physical, intellectual, financial.  Then you’ll have the carte du pays.  Two of them are coming to-morrow for the Sunday.  There’s nobody coming to-night of the least interest.  Cynthia Welwyn, Captain Vivian Lodge, Buntingford’s cousin—­rather a prig—­but good-looking.  A girl or two, no doubt—­probably the parson—­probably the agent.  Now you know.  Shall we go down?”

* * * * *

The library was already full when the two ladies entered.  Mrs. Friend was aware of a tall fair woman, beautifully dressed in black, standing by Lord Buntingford; of an officer in uniform, resplendent in red tabs and decorations, talking to a spare grey-haired man, who might be supposed to be the agent; of a man in a round collar and clerical coat, standing awkward and silent by the tall lady in black; and of various other girls and young men.