'Is he at Oxford?'

'Oh yes! it was all papa's doing that he was sent to Eton. Papa is his guardian. Aunt Rotherwood never would have parted with him.'

'He is the only son,' interposed Emily.

'Uncle Rotherwood put him quite in papa's power; Aunt Rotherwood wanted to keep him at home with a tutor, and what she would have made of him I cannot think,' said Lily; and regardless of Emily's warning frowns, and Alethea's attempt to change the subject, she went on: 'When he was quite a child he used to seem a realisation of all the naughty d.i.c.ks and Toms in story-books. Miss Middleton had a perfect horror of his coming here, for he would mind no one, and played tricks and drew Claude into mischief; but he is quite altered since papa had the management of him--Oh! such talks as papa has had with Aunt Rotherwood--do you know, papa says no one knows what it is to lose a father but those who have the care of his children, and Aunt Rotherwood is so provoking.'

Here Alethea determined to put an end to this oration, and to Emily's great relief, she cut short the detail of Lady Rotherwood's offences by saying, 'Do you think Faith Longley likely to suit us, if we took her to help the housemaid?'

'Are you thinking of taking her?' cried Lily. 'Yes, for steady, stupid household work, Faith would do very well; she is just the stuff to make a servant of--"for dulness ever must be regular"--I mean for those who like mere steadiness better than anything more lovable.'

As Alethea said, laughing, 'I must confess my respect for that quality,' Mr. Devereux and Claude entered the room.

'Oh, Robert!' cried Lily, 'Mrs. Weston is going to take Faith Longley to help the housemaid.'

'You are travelling too fast, Lily,' said Alethea, 'she is only going to think about it.'

'I should be very glad,' said Mr. Devereux, 'that Faith should have a good place; the Longleys are very respectable people, and they behaved particularly well in refusing to let this girl go and live with some dissenters at Stoney Bridge.'

'I like what I have seen of the girl very much,' said Miss Weston.

'In spite of her sad want of feeling,' said Robert, smiling, as he looked at Lily.

'Oh! she is a good work-a-day sort of person,' said Lily, 'like all other poor people, hard and pa.s.sive. Now, do not set up your eyebrows, Claude, I am quite serious, there is no warmth about any except--'

'So this is what Lily is come to!' cried Emily; 'the grand supporter of the poor on poetical principles.'

'The poor not affectionate!' said Alethea.

'Not, compared within people whose minds and affections have been cultivated,' said Lily. 'Now just hear what Mrs. Wall said to me only yesterday; she asked for a black stuff gown out of the clothing club, "for," said she, "I had a misfortune, Miss;" I thought it would be, "and tore my gown," but it was, "I had a misfortune, Miss, and lost my brother."'

'A very harsh conclusion on very slight grounds,' said Mr. Devereux.

'Prove the contrary,' said Lily.

'Facts would scarcely demonstrate it either way,' said Mr. Devereux.

'They would only prove what was the case with individuals who chanced to come in our way, and if we are seldom able to judge of the depth of feeling of those with whom we are familiar, how much less of those who feel our presence a restraint.'

'Intense feeling mocks restraint,' said Lily.

'Violent, not intense,' said Mr. Devereux. 'Besides, you talk of cultivating the affections. Now what do you mean? Exercising them, or talking about them?'

'Ah!' said Emily, 'the affection of a poor person is more tried; we blame a poor man for letting his old mother go to the workhouse, without considering how many of us would do the same, if we had as little to live upon.'

'Still,' said Alethea, 'the same man who would refuse to maintain her if poor, would not bear with her infirmities if rich.'

'Are the poor never infirm and peevish?' said Mr. Devereux.

'Oh! how much worse it must be to bear with ill-temper in poverty,'

said Emily, 'when we think it quite wonderful to see a young lady kind and patient with a cross old relation; what must it be when she is denying herself, not only her pleasure, but her food for her sake; not merely sitting quietly with her all day, and calling a servant to wait upon her, but toiling all day to maintain her, and keeping awake half the night to nurse her?'

'Those are realities, indeed,' said Alethea; 'our greatest efforts seem but child's play in comparison.'

Lilias could hardly have helped being sobered by this conversation if she had attended to it, but she had turned away to repeat the story of Mrs. Walls to Jane, and then, fancying that the others were still remarking upon it, she said in a light, laughing tone, 'Well, so far I agree with you. I know of a person who may well be called one of ourselves, who I could quite fancy making such a speech.'

'Whom do you mean?' said Mr. Devereux. Alethea wished she did not know.

'No very distant relation,' said Jane.

'Do not talk nonsense, Jane,' said Claude, gravely.

'No nonsense at all, Claude,' cried Jane in her very very pertest tone, 'it is exactly like Eleanor; I am sure I can see her with her hands before her, saying in her prim voice, "I must turn my old black silk and trim it with c.r.a.pe, for I have had a misfortune, and lost my brother."'

'Lilias,' said Miss Weston, somewhat abruptly, 'did you not wish to sing with me this evening?'

And thus she kept Lilias from any further public mischief that evening.

Claude, exceedingly vexed by what had pa.s.sed, with great injustice, laid the blame upon Miss Weston, and instead of rendering her the honour which she really deserved for the tact with which she had put an end to the embarra.s.sment of all parties, he fancied she was anxious to display her talents for music, and thus only felt fretted by the sounds.

Mr. Weston and his daughter intended to walk home that evening, as it was a beautiful moonlight night.

'Oh, let us convoy you!' exclaimed Lilias; 'I do long to show Alethea a glow-worm. Will you come, Claude? May we, papa? Feel how still and warm it is. A perfect summer night, not a breath stirring.'

Mr. Mohun consented, and Lily almost hurried Alethea upstairs, to put on her bonnet and shawl. When she came down she found that the walking party had increased. Jane and Reginald would both have been in despair to have missed such a frolic; Maurice hoped to fall in with the droning beetle, or to lay violent hands on a glow-worm; Emily did not like to be left behind, and even Mr. Mohun was going, being in the midst of an interesting conversation with Mr. Weston.

Lily, with an absurd tragic gesture, told Alethea that amongst so many, such a crowd, all the grace and sweet influence of the walk was ruined. The 'sweet influence' was ruined as far as Lily was concerned, but not by the number of her companions. It was the uneasy feeling caused by her over-strained spirits and foolish chattering that prevented her from really entering into the charm of the soft air, the clear moon, the solemn deep blue sky, the few stars, the white lilies on the dark pond, the long shadows of the trees, the freshness of the dewy fields. Her simplicity, and her genuine delight in the loveliness of the scene, was gone for the time, and though she spoke much of her enjoyment, it was in a high- flown affected style.

When the last good-night had been exchanged, and Lily had turned homeward, she felt the stillness which succeeded their farewells almost oppressive; she started at the dark shadow of a tree which lay across the path, and to shake off a sensation of fear which was coming over her, she put her arm within Claude's, exclaiming, 'You naughty boy, you will be stupid and silent, say what I will.'

'I heard enough to-night to strike me dumb,' said Claude.

For one moment Lily thought he was in jest, but the gravity of his manner showed her that he was both grieved and displeased, and she changed her tone as she said, 'Oh! Claude, what do you mean?'

'Do you not know?' said Claude.

'What, you mean about Eleanor?' said Lily; 'you must fall upon Miss Jenny there--it was her doing.'

'Jane's tongue is a pest,' said Claude; 'but she was not the first to speak evil falsely of one to whom you owe everything. Oh! Lily, I cannot tell you how that allusion of yours sounded.'

'What allusion?' asked Lily in alarm, for she had never seen her gentle brother so angry.

'You know,' said he.

'Indeed, I do not,' exclaimed Lily, munch frightened. 'Claude, Claude, you must mistake, I never could have said anything so very shocking.'

'I hope I do,' said Claude; 'I could hardly believe that one of the little ones who cannot remember him, could have referred to him in that way--but for you!'

'Him?' said Lilias.

'I do not like to mention his name to one who regards him so lightly,' said Claude. 'Think over what pa.s.sed, if you are sufficiently come to yourself to remember it.'