Perhaps
I wouldn't have asked Donald if I'd known. But I did ask him, and he
accepted. And now Buntingford's going to insult him publicly. And that I
won't stand--I vow I won't! It's insulting me too!"
And springing up, she began a stormy pacing of the room, her white gown
falling back from her neck and throat, and her hair floating behind her.
Mrs. Friend had begun to collect herself. In the few hours she had passed
under Lord Buntingford's roof she seemed to herself to have been passing
through a forcing house. Qualities she had never dreamed of possessing or
claiming she must somehow show, or give up the game. Unless she could
understand and get hold of this wholly unexpected situation, as Helena
presented it, she might as well re-pack her box, and order the village
fly for departure.
"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" she said presently, as the
white skirts swept past her.
"Mind! Not a bit. What do you want to know?"
"Are you in love with Lord Donald?"
Helena laughed.
"If I were, do you think I'd let him run away with Lady Preston or
anybody else? Not at all! Lord Donald's just one of the men I like
talking to.
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