"I seem to have been
through a London season, which I haven't done, of course, since 1914.
Never went to so many dances in my life!"
"Somebody tells me, Peter, that--you're a dreadful flirt!" said Helena,
still with those grave, considering eyes.
Peter laughed--but rather angrily.
"All very well for you to talk, Miss Helena! Please--how many men were
you making fools of--including your humble servant--before you went down
to Beechmark? You have no conscience, Helena! You are the 'Belle Dame
sans merci.'"
"All that is most unjust--and ridiculous!" said Helena mildly.
Peter went off into a peal of laughter. Helena persisted.
"What do you call flirting, Peter?"
"Turning a man's head--making him believe that you're gone on him--when,
in fact, you don't care a rap!"
"Peter!--then of course you _know_ I never flirted with you!" said
Helena, with vigour. Peter hesitated, and Helena at once pursued her
advantage.
"Let's talk of something more to the point. I'm told, Peter, that
you've been paying great attentions--marked attentions--to a very
nice girl--that everybody's talking about it,--and that you ought
long ago either to have fixed it up,--or cleared out.
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