"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.

Geoffrey put out a soothing hand--and touched hers.
"My dear child:--how could I suggest anything of the kind?
I'm only a little sorry--for Philip," "Philip can take care of himself," she said passionately.

"Only a _stupid--conventional_--mind could want to spoil what is really so--so--" "So charming ?" suggested Geoffrey, springing to his feet.

"Very well, Helena!--then if Philip is really nothing more to you than your guardian, and your very good friend--why not give some one else a chance ?" He bent over her, his kind, clever face aglow with the feeling he could no longer conceal.