"You mean that Mr. Beauclerc is to marry Miss Clarendon," said Helen, compelled to speak.

"I only say it has been thought of," replied Lady Cecilia; "that is, as every thing in this way is thought of about every couple not within the prohibited degrees, one's grandmother inclusive. And the plainer the woman, the more sure she is to contemplate such things for herself, lest no one else should think of them for her. But, my dear Helen, if you mean to ask--"

"Oh, I don't mean to ask any thing," cried Helen.

"But, whether you ask or not, I must tell you that the general is too proud to own, even to himself, that he could; ever think of any man for his sister who had not first proposed for her."

There was a pause for some minutes.

"But," resumed Lady Cecilia, "I could not do less than ask her here for Clarendon's sake, when I know it pleases him; and she is very--estimable, and so I wish to make her love me if I could! But I do not think she will be nearer her point with Mr. Beauclerc, if it is her point, by coming here just now. Granville has eyes as well as ears, and contrasts will strike. I know who I wish should strike him, as she strikes me--and I think--I hope--"

Helen looked distressed.

"I am as innocent as a dove," pursued Lady Cecilia; "but I suppose even doves may have their own private little thoughts and wishes."

Helen was sure Cecilia had meant all this most kindly, but she was sorry that some things had been said. She was conscious of having been interested by those letters of Mr. Beauclerc's; but a particular thought had now been put into her mind, and she could never more say, never more feel, that such a thought had not come into her head. She was very sorry; it seemed as if somewhat of the freshness, the innocence, of her mind was gone from her. She was sorry, too, that she had heard all that Cecilia had said about Miss Clarendon; it appeared as if she was actually doomed to get into some difficulty with the general about his sister; she felt as if thrown back into a sea of doubts, and she was not clear that she could, even by opposing, end them.

On the appointed Tuesday, late, Miss Clarendon arrived; a fine figure, but ungraceful, as Helen observed, from the first moment when she turned sharply away from Lady Cecilia's embrace to a great dog of her brother's--"Ah, old Neptune! I'm glad you're here still."

And when Lady Cecilia would have put down his paws--"Let him alone, let him alone, dear, honest, old fellow."

"But the dear, honest, old fellow's paws are wet, and will ruin your pretty new pelisse."

"It may be new, but you know it is not pretty," said Miss Clarendon, continuing to pat Neptune's head as he jumped up with his paws on her shoulders.

"O my dear Esther, how can you bear him? he is so rough in his love!"

"I like rough better than smooth." The rough paw caught in her lace frill, and it was torn to pieces before "down! down!" and the united efforts of Lady Cecilia and Helen could extricate it.--"Don't distress yourselves about it, pray; it does not signify in the least. Poor Neptune, how really sorry he looks--there, there, wag your tail again--no one shall come between us two old friends."

Her brother came in, and, starting up, her arms were thrown round his neck, and her bonnet falling back, Helen who had thought her quite plain before, was surprised to see that, now her colour was raised, and there was life in her eyes, she was really handsome.

Gone again that expression, when Cecilia spoke to her: whatever she said, Miss Clarendon differed from; if it was a matter of taste, she was always of the contrary opinion; if narrative or a.s.sertion, she questioned, doubted, seemed as if she could not believe. Her conversation, if conversation it could be called, was a perpetual rebating and regrating, especially with her sister-in-law; if Lady Cecilia did but say there were three instead of four, it was taken up as "quite a mistake," and marked not only as a mistake, but as "not true."

Every, the slightest error, became a crime against majesty, and the first day ended with Helen's thinking her really the most disagreeable, intolerable person she had ever seen.

And the second day went on a little worse. Helen thought Cecilia took too much pains to please, and said it would be better to let her quite alone. Helen did so completely, but Miss Clarendon did not let Helen alone; but watched her with penetrating eyes continually, listened to every word she said, and seeming to weigh every syllable,--"Oh, my words are not worth your weighing," said Helen, laughing.

"Yes they are, to settle my mind."

The first thing that seemed at all to settle it was Helen's not agreeing with Cecilia about the colour of two ribands which Helen said she could not flatter her were good matches. The next was about a drawing of Miss Clarendon's, of Llansillan, her place in Wales; a beautiful drawing indeed, which she had brought for her brother, but one of the towers certainly was out of the perpendicular. Helen was appealed to, and could not say it was upright; Miss Clarendon instantly took up a knife, cut the paper at the back of the frame, and, taking out the drawing, set the tower to rights.

"There's the use of telling the truth."

"Of listening to it," said Helen.

"We shall get on, I see, Miss Stanley, if you can get over the first bitter outside of me;--a hard outside, difficult to crack--stains delicate fingers, may be," she continued, as she replaced her drawing in its frame--"stains delicate fingers, may be, in the opening, but a good walnut you will find it, taken with a grain of salt."

Many a grain seemed necessary, and very strong nut-crackers in very strong hands. Lady Cecilia's evidently were not strong enough, though she strained hard. Helen did not feel inclined to try.

Cecilia invited Miss Clarendon to walk out and see some of the alterations her brother had made. As they pa.s.sed the new Italian garden, Miss Clarendon asked, "What's all this?--don't like this--how I regret the Old English garden, and the high beech hedges. Every thing is to be changed here, I suppose,--pray do not ask my opinion about any of the alterations."

"I do not wonder," said Cecilia, "that you should prefer the old garden, with all your early a.s.sociations; warm-hearted, amiable people must always be so fond of what they have loved in childhood."

"I never was here when I was a child, and I am not one of your amiable people."

"Very true, indeed," thought Helen.

"Miss Stanley looks at me as if I had seven heads," said Miss Clarendon, laughing; and, a minute after, overtaking Helen as she walked on, she looked full in her face, and added, "Do acknowledge that you think me a savage." Helen did not deny it, and from that moment Miss Clarendon looked less savagely upon her: she laughed and said, "I am not quite such a bear as I seem, you'll find; at least I never hug people to death. My growl is worse than my bite, unless some one should flatter my cla.s.sical, bearish pa.s.sion, and offer to feed me with honey, and when I find it all comb and no honey, who would not growl then?"

Lady Cecilia now came up, and pointed out views to which the general had opened. "Yes, it's well, he has done very well, but pray don't stand on ceremony with me. I can walk alone, you may leave me to my own cogitations, as I like best."

"Surely, as you like best," said Lady Cecilia; "pray consider yourself, as you know you are, at home here."

"No, I never shall be at home here," said Esther.

"Oh! don't say that, let me hope--let me hope--" and she withdrew. Helen just stayed to unlock a gate for Miss Clarendon's 'rambles further,'

and, as she unlocked it, she heard Miss Clarendon sigh as she repeated the word, "Hope! I do not like to hope, hope has so often deceived me."

"You will never be deceived in Cecilia," said Helen.

"Take care--stay till you try."

"I have tried," said Helen, "I know her."

"How long?"

"From childhood!"

"You're scarcely out of childhood yet."

"I am not so very young. I have had trials of my friends--of Cecilia particularly, much more than you could ever have had."

"Well, this is the best thing I ever heard of her, and from good authority too; her friends abroad were all false," said Miss Clarendon.

"It is very extraordinary," said Helen, "to hear such a young person as you are talk so--

"So--how?"

"Of false friends--you must have been very unfortunate."

"Pardon me--very fortunate--to find them out in time." She looked at the prospect, and liked all that her brother was doing, and disliked all that she even guessed Lady Cecilia had done. Helen showed her that she guessed wrong here and there, and smiled at her prejudices; and Miss Clarendon smiled again, and admitted that she was prejudiced, "but every body is; only some show and tell, and others smile and fib. I wish that word fib was banished from English language, and white lie drummed out after it. Things by their right names and we should all do much better.

Truth must be told, whether agreeable or not."

"But whoever makes truth disagreeable commits high treason against virtue," said Helen.

"Is that yours?" cried Miss Clarendon, stopping short.

"No," said Helen. "It is excellent whoever said it."