"Why do you let her smoke--and paint--and _swear_--I declare I heard her
swear!" she said in Buntingford's ear, as the dressing-bell rang, and he
was escorting her to the house. "And mark my words, Philip--men may be
amused by that kind of girl, but they won't marry her."
Buntingford laughed.
"As Helena's guardian I'm not particularly anxious about that!"
"Ah, no doubt, she tells you people propose to her--but is it true?"
snapped Lady Mary.
"You imagine that Helena tells me of her proposals?" said Buntingford,
wondering.
"My dear Philip, don't pose! Isn't that the special function of a
guardian?"
"It may be. But, if so, Helena has never given me the chance of
performing it."
"I told you so! Men will flirt with her, but they _don't_ propose to
her!" said Lady Mary triumphantly.
Buntingford, smiling, let her have the last word, as he asked Mrs. Friend
to show her to her room.
Meanwhile the gardens were deserted, save for a couple of gardeners and
an electrician, who were laying some wires for the illumination of the
rose-garden in front of the drawing-room, and Geoffrey French, who was in
a boat, lazily drifting across the pond, and reading a volume of poems by
a friend which he had brought down with him.
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