The duchess listened in silence.

“Then you two incompetents have never seen each other since?” she asked.

“No.”

“But you hope to?”

“I cannot speak for him,” said Helen.

“And you have never written to him, and don’t know whether he is alive or dead?”

“No.”

“Then I have been nursing in my bosom for three years at one and the same time a brave, independent, matter-of-fact young person and the most idiotic, sentimental heroine that ever figured in a romantic opera or a country ballad.”  Helen did not reply.  “Well, my dear,” said the duchess after a pause, “I see that you are condemned to pass your days with me in some cheap hotel on the continent.”  Helen looked up wonderingly.  “Yes,” she continued, “I suppose I must now make up my mind to sell my place to this gilded South American, who has taken a fancy to it.  But I am not going to spoil my day by seeing him now.  No; we will excuse ourselves from going to Deep Hill to-day, and we will go back home quietly after luncheon.  It will be a mercy to Sir James.”

“But,” said Helen earnestly, “I can go back to my old life, and earn my own living.”

“Not if I can help it,” said the duchess grimly.  “Your independence has made you a charming companion to me, I admit; but I shall see that it does not again spoil your chances of marrying.  Here comes Sir James.  Really, my dear, I don’t know which one of you looks the more relieved.”

On their way back through the park Helen again urged the duchess to give up the idea of selling Hamley Court, and to consent to her taking up her old freedom and independence once more.  “I shall never, never forget your loving kindness and protection,” continued the young girl, tenderly.  “You will let me come to you always when you want me; but you will let me also shape my life anew, and work for my living.”  The duchess turned her grave, half humorous face towards her.  “That means you have determined to seek him.  Well!  Perhaps if you give up your other absurd idea of independence, I may assist you.  And now I really believe, dear, that there is that dreadful South American,” pointing to a figure that was crossing the lawn at Hamley Court, “hovering round like a vulture.  Well, I can’t see him to-day if he calls, but you may.  By the way, they say he is not bad-looking, was a famous general in the South American War, and is rolling in money, and comes here on a secret mission from his government.  But I forget—­the rest of our life is to be devoted to seeking another.  And I begin to think I am not a good matchmaker.”