Certainly a barrier which usually stands fast had fallen, and it was possible to speak of matters which are generally only alluded to between men and women when doctors are present, or the shadow of death.  In five minutes he was telling her the history of his life.  It was long, for it was full of extremely elaborate incidents, which led on to a discussion of the principles on which morality is founded, and thus to several very interesting matters, which even in this ballroom had to be discussed in a whisper, lest one of the pouter pigeon ladies or resplendent merchants should overhear them, and proceed to demand that they should leave the place.  When they had come to an end, or, to speak more accurately, when Helen intimated by a slight slackening of her attention that they had sat there long enough, Hirst rose, exclaiming, “So there’s no reason whatever for all this mystery!”

“None, except that we are English people,” she answered.  She took his arm and they crossed the ball-room, making their way with difficulty between the spinning couples, who were now perceptibly dishevelled, and certainly to a critical eye by no means lovely in their shapes.  The excitement of undertaking a friendship and the length of their talk, made them hungry, and they went in search of food to the dining-room, which was now full of people eating at little separate tables.  In the doorway they met Rachel, going up to dance again with Arthur Venning.  She was flushed and looked very happy, and Helen was struck by the fact that in this mood she was certainly more attractive than the generality of young women.  She had never noticed it so clearly before.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, as they stopped for a second.

“Miss Vinrace,” Arthur answered for her, “has just made a confession; she’d no idea that dances could be so delightful.”

“Yes!” Rachel exclaimed.  “I’ve changed my view of life completely!”

“You don’t say so!” Helen mocked.  They passed on.

“That’s typical of Rachel,” she said.  “She changes her view of life about every other day.  D’you know, I believe you’re just the person I want,” she said, as they sat down, “to help me complete her education?  She’s been brought up practically in a nunnery.  Her father’s too absurd.  I’ve been doing what I can—­but I’m too old, and I’m a woman.  Why shouldn’t you talk to her—­explain things to her—­talk to her, I mean, as you talk to me?”

“I have made one attempt already this evening,” said St. John.  “I rather doubt that it was successful.  She seems to me so very young and inexperienced.  I have promised to lend her Gibbon.”

“It’s not Gibbon exactly,” Helen pondered.  “It’s the facts of life, I think—­d’you see what I mean?  What really goes on, what people feel, although they generally try to hide it?  There’s nothing to be frightened of.  It’s so much more beautiful than the pretences—­always more interesting—­always better, I should say, than that kind of thing.”