They don't matter to me. It's the principle involved that
matters. Am I free, or am I not free? Anyway, I've just sent that
telegram."
"To whom?" cried Mrs. Friend.
"To Lord Donald, of course, asking him to meet me at the Ritz next
Wednesday. If you will be so good"--the brown head made her a ceremonial
bow--"as to go up with me to town--we can go to my dressmaker's
together--I have got heaps to do there--then I can leave you somewhere
for lunch--and pick you up again afterwards!"
"Of course, Miss Pitstone--Helena!--I can't do anything of the sort,
unless your guardian agrees."
"Well, we shall see," said Helena coolly, jumping up. "I mean to tell him
after lunch. Don't please worry. And good-bye till lunch. This time I am
really going to look after my horse!"
A laugh, and a wave of the hand--she had disappeared. Mrs. Friend was
left to reflect on the New Woman. Was it in truth the war that had
produced her?--and if so, how and why? All that seemed probable was that
in two or three weeks' time, perhaps, she would be again appealing to the
same agency that had sent her to Beechmark.
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