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Updated: June 18, 2025
Whereas she had peremptorily bidden Peter Dale for this particular Sunday, and he had thrown over half a dozen engagements to obey her. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Friend. Is Miss Pitstone at home?" The speaker was a shaggy old fellow in an Inverness cape and an ancient wide-awake, carrying a portfolio and a camp-stool.
The hospital had been warned by telephone, and all preparations had been made. When the two unconscious men were safely in bed, the Dansworth doctor turned warmly to Helena: "I don't know what we should have done without you, Miss Pitstone! But you look awfully tired. I hope you'll go home at once, and rest." "I'm going to take her home at once," said Buntingford.
"Who? Buntingford? My dear, what could he do? Rachel Pitstone was his greatest friend in the world, and when she asked him just the week before she died, how could he say No?" Lady Georgina murmured that in that case Rachel Pitstone also had been a fool "Unless, of course, she wanted the girl to marry Buntingford. Why, Philip's only forty-four now. A nice age for a guardian!
Miss Pitstone hasn't arrived. Norris, take Mrs. Friend's luggage upstairs." An ancient man-servant appeared. The small and delicately built lady on the step looked at him appealingly. "I am afraid there is a box besides," she said, like one confessing a crime. "Not a big one " she added hurriedly. "We had to leave it at the station. The groom left word for it to be brought later." "Of course.
He had found it easy to tell her secrets, when nobody else could have dragged a word from him; and as a matter of fact she had known before she died practically all that there was to know about him. And she had been so kind, and simple and wise. Had she perhaps once had a tendresse for him before she met Ned Pitstone? and if things had gone differently might he not, perhaps, have married her?
It did not seem to her of any real importance that a half-crazy stranger, attracted by the sounds and sights of the ball, on such a beautiful night, should have tried to watch it from the lake. The whole tale was curious, but to her irrelevant. The mystery she burned to find out was nearer home. Was Helena Pitstone falling in love with Philip? And if so, what was the effect on Philip?
"I am very glad to hear Lord Buntingford is going to Wales. Miss Pitstone has been evidently a great deal on his mind. He said to John the other day that he had arranged everything at Beechmark so that, when you and she came back, he did not think you would find Arthur in the way. The boy's rooms are in a separate wing, and would not interfere at all with visitors.
Helena Pitstone meanwhile walked away by herself to a distant part of the room and turned over photographs, with what seemed to Mrs. Friend a stormy hand. And as she did so, everyone in the room was aware of her, of the brilliance and power of the girl's beauty, and of the energy that like an aura seemed to envelop her personality. Lady Cynthia made several attempts to capture her, but in vain.
Please make yourself at home!" And with a slight bow to her, the first sign in him of those manners of the grand seigneur she had vaguely expected, he was moving away, when she said hurriedly, pursuing her own thought: "You said Miss Pitstone was very good-looking?" "Oh, very!" He laughed. "She's exactly like Romney's Lady Hamilton. You know the type?" "Ye-es," said Mrs. Friend.
Suddenly she began to whistle a popular waltz and the next minute the two elder people found themselves watching open-mouthed the whirling figure of Miss Helena Pitstone, as, singing to herself, and absorbed apparently in some new and complicated steps, she danced down the whole length of the drawing-room and back again.
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