"I haven't!"--said Helena vehemently. "I have asked all sorts of people
down he didn't like--and I've made him live in one perpetual racket. I've
been an odious little beast. But now--perhaps--I shall know better what
he wants."
"Excellent sentiments!" A scoffer looked down upon her through curling
rings of smoke. "Shall I tell you what Philip wants?"
"What?"
"He wants a wife."
The attentive eyes fixed on him withdrew themselves.
"Well--suppose he does?"
"Are you going to supply him with one? Lady Cynthia, I think, would
accommodate you."
Helena flushed angrily.
"He hasn't the smallest intention of proposing to Cynthia. Nobody with
eyes in their head would suggest it."
"No--but if you and he are such great friends--couldn't you pull it off?
It would be very suitable," said Geoffrey coolly.
Helena broke out--the quick breath beating against her white bodice:
"Of course I understand you perfectly, Geoffrey--perfectly! You're not
very subtle--are you? What you're thinking is that when I call Philip my
friend I'm meaning something else--that I'm plotting--intriguing--"
Her words choked her.
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