They still jarred, sometimes seriously; Helena was often provocative and aggressive; and Buntingford could make a remark sting without intending it.  But on the whole Lucy Friend felt that she was watching something which had in it possibilities of beauty; indeed of a rather touching and rare development.  But not at all as the preliminary to a love-affair.  In Buntingford’s whole relation to his ward, Lucy Friend, at least, had never yet detected the smallest sign of male susceptibility.  It suggested something quite different.  Julian Horne, who had taken a great fancy to Helena’s chaperon, was now recommending books to her instead of to Helena, who always forgot or disobeyed his instructions.  With a little preliminary lecture, he had put the “Greville Memoirs” in her hands by way of improving her mind; and she had been struck by a passage in which Greville describes Lord Melbourne’s training of the young Queen Victoria, whose Prime Minister he was.  The man of middle-age, accomplished, cynical and witty, suddenly confronted with a responsibility which challenged both his heart and his conscience—­and that a responsibility towards an attractive young girl whom he could neither court nor command, towards whom his only instrument was the honesty and delicacy of his own purpose:—­there was something in this famous, historical situation which seemed to throw a light on the humbler situation at Beechmark.

Four o’clock!  In another hour the Whitsuntide party for which the house stood ready would have arrived.  Helena’s particular “pals” were all coming, and various friends and kinsfolk of Lord Buntingford’s; including Lady Mary Chance, a general or two, some Admiralty officials, and one or two distinguished sailors with the halo of Zeebrugge about them.  The gathering was to last nearly a week.  Mrs. Mawson had engaged two extra servants, and the master of the house had resigned himself.  But he had laid it down that the fare was to be simple—­and “no champagne.”  And though of course there would be plenty of bridge, he had given a hint to Vivian Lodge, who, as his heir-apparent, was his natural aide-de-camp in the management of the party, that anything like high play would be unwelcome.  Some of Helena’s friends during the latter week-ends of May had carried things to extremes.

Meanwhile the social and political sky was darkening in the June England.  Peace was on the point of being signed in Paris; but the industrial war at home weighed on every thinking mind.  London was dancing night after night; money was being spent like water; and yet every man and woman of sense knew that the only hope for Britain lay in work and saving.  Buntingford’s habitual frown—­the frown not of temper but of oppression—­had grown deeper; and on their long rides together he had shown a great deal of his mind to Helena—­the mind of a patriot full of fear for his country.

A man came across the lawn.  Lucy Friend was glad to recognize Geoffrey French, who was a great favourite with her.