Helena's slim figure in a white dress, the reddish touch in her brown hair, the lovely rounding of her cheek and neck, were thrown sharply against a background of new leaf made by a giant beech tree just outside.

Mrs.Friend looked at Lord Buntingford.

The thought leaped into her mind--"How can he help making love to her himself ?"--only to be immediately chidden.

Buntingford was not looking at Helena but at his watch.
"Well, I must go and do some drivelling work before lunch.

I have given Mrs.Friend _carte blanche_, Helena.