If there was the slightest touch of sarcasm in the eyes that travelled from her to the books, Helena took it meekly.  She went to the bookshelves.  Poets, novelists, plays, philosophers, economists, some French and Italian books, they were all in their proper places.  The books were partly her own, partly her mother’s.  Helena eyed them thoughtfully.

“You must have taken a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all.  The man took all the trouble.  There wasn’t much.”

As he spoke, her eye caught a piano standing between the windows.

“Mummy’s piano!  Why, I thought we agreed it should be stored?”

“It seemed to me you might as well have it down here.  We can easily hire one for London.”

“Awfully nice of you,” murmured Helena.  She opened it and stood with her hand on the keys, looking out into the park, as though she pursued some thought or memory of her own.  It was a brilliant May morning, and the windows were open.  Helena’s slim figure in a white dress, the reddish touch in her brown hair, the lovely rounding of her cheek and neck, were thrown sharply against a background of new leaf made by a giant beech tree just outside.  Mrs. Friend looked at Lord Buntingford.  The thought leaped into her mind—­“How can he help making love to her himself?”—­only to be immediately chidden.  Buntingford was not looking at Helena but at his watch.

“Well, I must go and do some drivelling work before lunch.  I have given Mrs. Friend carte blanche, Helena.  Order what you like, and if Mrs. Mawson bothers you, send her to me.  Geoffrey comes to-night, and we shall be seven to-morrow.”

He made for the door.  Helena had turned suddenly at his last words, eye and cheek kindling.

“Hm—­” she said, under her breath—­“So he has sent the telegram.”

She left the window, and began to walk restlessly about the room, looking now at the books, now at the piano.  Her face hardened, and she paid no attention to Mrs. Friend’s little comments of pleasure on the room and its contents.  Presently indeed she cut brusquely across.

“I am just going down to the stables to see whether my horse has arrived.  A friend of mine bought her for me in town—­and she was to be here early this morning.  I want, too, to see where they’re going to put her.”

“Mayn’t I come too?” said Mrs. Friend, puzzled by the sudden clouding of the girl’s beautiful looks.

“Oh, no—­please don’t.  You’ve got to see the housekeeper!  I’ll get my hat and run down.  I found out last night where the stables are.  I shan’t be more than ten minutes or so.”

She hurried away, leaving Mrs. Friend once more a prey to anxieties.  She recalled the threat of the night before.  But no, impossible!  After all the kindness and the forethought!  She dismissed it from her mind.