“I shouldn’t have thought the Sundays were much rest?”

“Ah, but they’re going to be!” she said eagerly.  “We’re not going to have another party for a whole month.  Cousin Philip has been treating me like a spoiled child—­stuffing me with treats—­and I’ve put an end to it!”

And this was the Helena that had stipulated so fiercely for her week-ends and her pals!  The smart deepened.

“And you won’t be tired of the country?”

“In the winter, perhaps,” she said carelessly.  “Philip and I have all sorts of plans for the things we want to do in London in the winter.  But not now—­when every hour’s delicious!”

“Philip and I!”—­a new combination indeed!

She threw her head back again, drinking in the warm light and shade, the golden intensity of the fresh leaf above her.

“And next week there’ll be frost, and you’ll be shivering over the fire,” he threw at her, in a sarcastic voice.

“Well, even that—­would be nicer—­than London,” she said slowly.  “I never imagined I should like the country so much.  Of course I wish there was more to do.  I told Philip so last night.”

“And what did he say?”

But she suddenly flushed and evaded the question.

“Oh, well, he hadn’t much to say,” said Helena, looking a little conscious.  “Anyway, I’m getting a little education.  Mrs. Friend’s brushing up my French—­which is vile.  And I do some reading every week for Philip—­and some drawing.  By the way”—­she turned upon her companion—­“do you know his drawings?—­they’re just ripping!  He must have been an awfully good artist.  But I’ve only just got him to show me his things.  He never talks of them himself.”

“I’ve never seen one.  His oldest friends can hardly remember that time in his life.  He seems to want to forget it.”

“Well, naturally!” said Helena, with an energy that astonished her listener; but before he could probe what she meant, she stooped over him: 

“Geoffrey!”

“Yes!”

He saw that she had coloured brightly.

“Do you remember all that nonsense I talked to you a month ago?”

“I can remember it if you want me to.  Something about old Philip being a bully and a tyrant, wasn’t it?”

“Some rubbish like that.  Well—­I don’t want to be maudlin—­but I wish to put it on record that Philip isn’t a bully and he isn’t a tyrant.  He can be a jolly good friend!”

“With some old-fashioned opinions?” put in Geoffrey mockingly.

“Old-fashioned opinions?—­yes, of course.  And you needn’t imagine that I shall agree with them all.  Oh, you may laugh, Geoffrey, but it’s quite true.  I’m not a bit crushed.  That’s the delightful part of it.  It’s because he has a genius—­yes, a genius—­for friendship.  I didn’t know him when I came down here—­I didn’t know him a bit—­and I was an idiot.  But one could trust him to the very last.”