And now the war was over.  It was May again, and glorious May with the world all colour and song, the garden a wealth of blossom, and the nights clear and fragrant under moon or stars.  And here was Philip again—­much more like the old Philip than he had been for years—­looking at her with those enchanting blue eyes of his, and asking her to do something for him.  No wonder Cynthia’s pulses were stirred.  The night before, she had come home depressed—­very conscious that she had had no particular success with him at dinner, or afterwards.  This unexpected tete-a-tete, with its sudden touch of intimacy, made up for it all.

What could she do but assure him—­trying hard not to be too forthcoming—­that she would be delighted to help him, if she could?  What was wrong?

“Nothing but my own idiocy,” he said, smiling.  “I find myself guardian to an extremely headstrong young woman, and I don’t know how to manage her.  I want your advice.”

Cynthia lay back in her chair, and prepared to give him all her mind.  But her eyes showed a certain mockery.

“I wonder why you undertook it!”

“So do I. But—­well, I couldn’t help it.  We won’t discuss that.  But what I had very little idea of—­was the modern girl!” Cynthia laughed out.

“And now you have discovered her—­in one day?” He laughed too, but rather dismally.

“Oh, I am only on the first step.  What I shall come to presently, I don’t know.  But the immediate problem is that Helena bombed me last night by the unexpected announcement that she had asked Donald—­Lord Donald—­for the week-end.  Do you know him?” Cynthia’s eyebrows had gone up.

“Very slightly.”

“You know his reputation?”

“I begin to remember a good deal about him.  Go on.”

“Well, Helena had asked that man, without consulting me, to stay at my house, and she sprang the announcement on me, on Thursday, the invitation being for Saturday.  I had to tell her then and there—­that he couldn’t come.”

“Naturally.  How did she take it?”

“Very ill.  You see, in a rash moment, I had told her to invite her friends for week-ends as she pleased.  So she holds that I have broken faith, and this morning she told me she had arranged to go up and lunch with Donald at the Ritz next week—­alone!  So again I had to stop it.  But I don’t play the jailer even decently.  I feel the greatest fool in creation.”  Cynthia smiled.

“I quite believe you!  And this all happened in the first twenty-four hours?  Poor Philip!”

“And I have also been informed that Helena’s ‘views’ will not allow her—­in the future—­to take my advice on any such questions—­that she prefers her liberty to her reputation—­and ’wants to understand a bad man.’  She said so.  It’s all very well to laugh, Cynthia!  But what am I to do?”

Cynthia, however, continued to laugh unrestrainedly.  And he joined in.