Helen shook her head, but the color gathered in her cheeks, and she took up a screen, as though to protect her face from the fire.
"I want to go home, aunt. Don't look so startled, please. I heard from papa this morning, and he's not very well, and Lord Thurwell comes back to-morrow, so you won't be lonely, and I've really quite made my mind up. Town is very nice, but I like the country best."
"Like the country best in May!" Lady Thurwell gasped. "My dear child, have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Not quite, aunt," Helen answered, smiling. "Only it is as I say. I like the country best, and I would really rather go home."
Lady Thurwell considered for a full minute. Being a very juvenile matron, she had by no means enjoyed her rôle as chaperon to an acknowledged beauty. She had offered it purely out of good nature, and because, although only related by marriage—Lord Thurwell was the elder brother of Mr. Thurwell, of Thurwell Court, and the head of the family—still there was no one else to perform such a service for Helen. But if Helen did really not care for it, and wished to return to her country life, why there was no necessity for her to make a martyr of herself any longer.
"You really mean this, Helen?"
"I do indeed, aunt."
"Then it is settled. Make your own arrangements. I have liked having you, child, and whenever you choose to come to me again you will be welcome. But of course, it is not everyone who cares for town life, and if you do not, you are quite right to detach yourself from it. I'm afraid I know several young men who'll take your sudden flight very much to heart; and one who isn't particularly young."
"Nonsense!" laughed her niece. "There'll be no mourning on my account."
"We shall see," remarked Lady Thurwell, sententiously. "If one person does not find his way down to Thurwell Court after you before long, I shall be surprised."