s private affairs--he
knew she was safe. Of course you know he is a widower?"

Mrs. Friend knew nothing. But she was vaguely surprised.

"Oh, well, a good many people know that--though Mummy always said she
never came across anybody who had ever seen his wife. He married her when
he was quite a boy---abroad somewhere--when there seemed no chance of his
ever being Lord Buntingford--he had two elder brothers who died--and she
was an art student on her own. An old uncle of Mummy's once told me that
when Cousin Philip came back from abroad--she died abroad--after her
death, he seemed altogether changed somehow. But he never, _never_ speaks
of her"--the girl swayed her slim body backwards and forwards for
emphasis--"and I wouldn't advise you or anybody else to try. Most people
think he's just a bachelor. I never talk about it to people--Mummy said I
wasn't to--and as he was very nice to Mummy--well, I don't. But I thought
you'd better know. And now I think we'd better dress."

But instead of moving, she looked down affectionately at her uniform and
her neat brown leggings.

"What a bore! I suppose I've no right to them any more."

"What is your uniform?"

"Women Ambulance Drivers. Don't you know the hostel in Ruby Square? I
bargained with Cousin Philip after Mummy's death I should stay out my
time, till I was demobbed. Awfully jolly time I had--on the whole--though
the girls were a mixed lot. Well--let's get a move on." She sprang up.
"Your room's next door."

Mrs. Friend was departing when Helena enquired:

"By the way--have you ever heard of Cynthia Welwyn?"

Mrs. Friend turned at the door, and shook her head.

"Oh, well, I can tot her up very quickly--just to give you an idea--as
she's coming to dinner. She's fair and forty--just about Buntingford's
age--quite good-looking--quite clever--lives by herself, reads a great
deal--runs the parish--you know the kind of thing. They swarm! I think
she would like to marry Cousin Philip, if he would let her."

Mrs. Friend hurriedly shut the door at her back, which had been slightly
ajar. Helena laughed--the merry but very soft laugh Mrs. Friend had first
heard in the hall--a laugh which seemed somehow out of keeping with the
rest of its owner's personality.

"Don't be alarmed. I doubt whether that would be news to anybody in this
house! But Buntingford's quite her match. Well, ta-ta. Shall I come and
help you dress?"

"The idea!" cried Mrs. Friend. "Shall I help you?"