Friend began soon to feel her anxieties of
the night dropping away, to enjoy the little luxuries of the breakfast
table, and the pleasant outlook on the park, of the high, faded, and yet
stately room.
"What a charming view!" she said to Lord Buntingford, when they rose from
breakfast, and she made her way to the open window, while Helena was
still deep in the papers.
"You think so?" he said indifferently, standing beside her. "I'm afraid I
prefer London. But now on another matter--Do you mind taking up your
duties instanter?"
"Please--please let me!" she said, turning eagerly to him.
"Well--there is a cook-housekeeper somewhere--who, I believe, expects
orders. Do you mind giving them? Please do not look so alarmed! It is the
simplest matter in the world. You will appear to give orders. In reality
Mrs. Mawson will have everything cut and dried, and you will not dare to
alter a thing. But she expects you or me to pretend. And I should be
greatly relieved if you would do the pretending?"
"Certainly," murmured Mrs. Friend.
Lord Buntingford, looking at the terrace outside, made a sudden
gesture--half despair, half impatience.
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