“Certainly,” murmured Mrs. Friend.

Lord Buntingford, looking at the terrace outside, made a sudden gesture—­half despair, half impatience.

“Oh, and there’s old Fenn,—­my head gardener.  He’s been here forty years, and he sits on me like an old man of the sea.  I know what he wants.  He’s coming up to ask me about something he calls a herbaceous border.  You see that border there?”—­he pointed—­“Well, I barely know a peony from a cabbage.  Perhaps you do?” He turned towards her hopefully; and Mrs. Friend felt the charm, as many other women had felt it before her, of the meditative blue eyes, under the black and heavy brow.  She shook her head smiling.

He smiled in return.

“But, if you don’t—­would you mind—­again—­pretending?  Would you see the old fellow, some time this morning—­and tell him to do exactly what he damn pleases—­I beg your pardon!—­it slipped out.  If not, he’ll come into my study, and talk a jargon of which I don’t understand a word, for half an hour.  And as he’s stone deaf, he doesn’t understand a word I say.  Moreover when he’s once there I can’t get him out.  And I’ve got a bit of rather tough county business this morning.  Would you mind?  It’s a great deal to ask.  But if you only let him talk—­and look intelligent—­”

“Of course I will,” said Mrs. Friend, bewildered, adding rather desperately, “But I don’t know anything at all about it.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.  Perhaps Helena does!  By the way, she hasn’t seen her sitting-room.”

He turned towards his ward, who was still reading at the table.

“I have arranged a special sitting-room for you, Helena.  Would you like to come and look at it?”

“What fun!” said Helena, jumping up.  “And may I do what I like in it?”

Buntingford’s mouth twisted a little.

“Naturally!  The house is at your disposal.  Turn anything out you like—­and bring anything else in.  There is some nice old stuff about, if you look for it.  If you send for the odd man he’ll move anything.  Well, I’d better show you what I arranged.  But you can have any other room you prefer.”

He led the way to the first floor, and opened a door in a corner of the pillared gallery.

“Oh, jolly!” cried Helena.

For they entered a lofty room, with white Georgian panelling, a few pretty old cabinets and chairs, a chintz-covered sofa, a stand of stuffed humming-birds, a picture or two, a blue Persian carpet, and a large book-case full of books.

“My books!” cried Helena in amazement.  “I was just going to ask if the cases had come.  How ever did you get them unpacked, and put here so quickly?”

“Nothing easier.  They arrived three days ago.  I telephoned to a man I know in Leicester Square.  He sent some one down, and they were all finished before you came down.  Perhaps you won’t like the arrangement?  Well, it will amuse you to undo it!”