"
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?" She looked round
the room and at Helena vigorously tackling the boxes. "I thought you
had a maid?"
"Not at all. I couldn't be bored with one."
"Do let me help you!"
"Then you'd be my maid, and I should bully you and detest you. You must
go and dress."
And Mrs. Friend found herself gently pushed out of the room. She went to
her own in some bewilderment. After having been immured for some three
years in close attendance on an invalided woman shut up in two rooms, she
was like a person walking along a dark road and suddenly caught in the
glare of motor lamps. Brought into contact with such a personality as
Helena Pitstone promised to be, she felt helpless and half blind.
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