She lifted her gentle face, under his compulsion, and slowly, pitifully shook her head.
Geoffrey drew a long breath.
"Then she oughtn't to ask him here! The poor little fellow is going through the tortures of the damned!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Isn't there anything we can do?" cried Mrs. Friend.
"Nothing—but keep him away. After all he's only the first victim."
Startled by the note in her companion's voice, Mrs. Friend turned to look at him. He forced a smile, as their eyes met.
"Oh, we must all take our chance! But Peter's not the boy he was—before the war. Things bowl him over easily."
"She likes him so much," murmured Lucy. "I'm sure she never means to be unkind."
"She isn't unkind!" said Geoffrey with energy. "It's the natural fated thing. We are all the slaves of her car and she knows it. When she was in the stage of quarrelling with us all, it was just fun. But if Helena grows as delicious—as she promised to be last week—" He shrugged his shoulders, with a deep breath—"Well,—she'll have to marry somebody some day—and the rest of us may drown! Only, if you're to be umpire—and she likes you so much that I expect you will be—play fair!"
He held out his hand, and she put hers into it, astonished to realize that her own eyes were full of tears.