"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—"