She obeyed. Peter was standing over her, his hands on his sides, looking very manly, and rather pale.
"Having disposed of me for the last six months—you may as well dispose of me altogether," he said slowly. "Very well—I will go—and propose to Jenny Dumbarton—-the day after to-morrow. Her people asked me for the week-end. I gave a shuffling answer. I'll wire to her to-morrow that I'm coming—"
"Peter—you're a darling!" cried Helena in delight, clapping her hands. "Oh!—I wish I could see Jenny's face when she opens the wire! You'll be very good to her, Peter?"
She looked at him searchingly, stirred by one of the sudden tremors that beset even the most well-intentioned match-maker.
Peter smiled, with a rather twisted lip, straightening his shoulders.
"I shouldn't ask any girl to marry me, that I couldn't love and honour, not even to please you, Helena! And she knows all about you!"
"She doesn't!" said Helena, in consternation.
"Yes, she does. I don't mean to say that I've told her the exact number of times you've refused me. But she knows quite enough. She'll take me—if she does take me—with her eyes open. Well, now that's settled!—But you interrupted me. There's one condition, Helena!"
"Name it." She eyed him nervously.
—"That in return for managing my life, you give me some indication of how you're going to manage your own!"