Herself? Yes, she was his true friend. She would do what would she not do to help him, to serve his interests? What had she not done since she married Her fortune, it was his; her every waking hour had been filled with something devised to help him on his way. Had he ever said to her: “Hylda, you are a help to me”? He had admired her--but was he singular in that? Before she married there were many--since, there had been many--who had shown, some with tact and carefulness, others with a crudeness making her shudder, that they admired her; and, if they might, would have given their admiration another name with other manifestations. Had she repelled it all? She had been too sure of herself to draw her skirts about her; she was too proud to let any man put her at any disadvantage. She had been safe, because her heart had been untouched. The Duchess of Snowdon, once beautiful, but now with a face like a mask, enamelled and rouged and lifeless, had said to her once: “My dear, I ought to have died at thirty. When I was twenty-three I wanted to squeeze the orange dry in a handful of years, and then go out suddenly, and let the dust of forgetfulness cover my bones. I had one child, a boy, and would have no more; and I squeezed the orange! But I didn’t go at thirty, and yet the orange was dry. My boy died; and you see what I am--a fright, I know it; and I dress like a child of twenty; and I can’t help it.” There had been moments, once, when Hylda, too, had wished to squeeze the orange dry, but something behind, calling to her, had held her back. She had dropped her anchor in perilous seas, but it had never dragged. “Tell me how to make friends--and keep them,” she added gaily. “If it be true I make friends, thee taught me how,” he answered, “for thee made me a friend, and I forget not the lesson.” She smiled. “Thee has learnt another lesson too well,” she answered brightly. “Thee must not flatter. It is not that which makes thee keep friends. Thee sees I also am speaking as they do in Hamley--am I not bold? I love the grammarless speech.” “Then use it freely to-day, for this is farewell,” he answered, not looking at her. “This--is--farewell,” she said slowly, vaguely. Why should it startle her so? “You are going so soon--where?” “To-morrow to London, next week to Egypt.” She laid a hand upon herself, for her heart was beating violently. “Thee is not fair to give no warning--there is so much to say,” she said, in so low a tone that he could scarcely hear her. “There is the future, your work, what we are to do here to help. What I am to do. “Thee will always be a friend to Egypt, I know,” he answered. “She needs friends. Thee has a place where thee can help.” “Will not right be done without my voice?” she asked, her eyes half closing. “There is the Foreign Office, and English policy, and the ministers, and--and Eglington. What need of me?”