The Heir of Redclyffe. Yonge Charlotte Mary

saw Mrs. Edmonstone coming out, and went to meet her. Guy told her his trouble, detailing it more calmly than before he had found out his mistake. She agreed with him that this had been in forgetting that his attending the ball did not concern only himself, but he then returned to say that he could not see what difference it made, except to their own immediate circle.

      ‘If it was not you, Guy, who made that speech, I should call it fishing for a compliment. You forget that rank and station make people sought after.’

      ‘I suppose there is something in that,’ said Guy, thoughtfully; ‘at any rate, it is no bad thing to think so, it is so humiliating.’

      ‘That is not the way most people would take it.’

      ‘No? Does not it prevent one from taking any attention as paid to one’s real self? The real flattering thing would be to be made as much of as Philip is, for one’s own merits, and not for the handle to one’s name.’

      ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Amy.

      ‘Well, then,’ as if he wished to gather the whole conversation into one resolve, the point is to consider whether abstaining from innocent things that may be dangerous to oneself mortifies other people. If so, the vexing them is a certain wrong, whereas the mischief of taking the pleasure is only a possible contingency. But then one must take it out of oneself some other way, or it becomes an excuse for self-indulgence.’

      ‘Hardly with you,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling.

      ‘Because I had rather go at it at once, and forget all about other people. You must teach me consideration, Mrs. Edmonstone, and in the meantime will you tell me what you think I had better do about this scrape?’

      ‘Let it alone,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone. ‘You have begged every one’s pardon, and it had better be forgotten as fast as possible. They have made more fuss already than it is worth. Don’t torment yourself about it any more; for, if you have made a mistake, it is on the right side; and on the first opportunity, I’ll go and call on Mrs. Deane, and see if she is very implacable.’

      The dressing-bell rang, and Amy ran up-stairs, stopping at Laura’s door, to ask how she prospered in the drive she had been taking with Charles and Eveleen.

      Amy told her of Guy’s trouble, and oh! awkward question, inquired if she could guess what it could be that Philip imagined that Guy had been offended at.

      ‘Can’t he guess?’ said poor Laura, to gain time, and brushing her hair over her face.

      ‘No, he has no idea, though Philip protested that he knew, and would not tell him. Philip must have been most tiresome.’

      ‘What? Has Guy been complaining?’

      ‘No, only angry with himself for being vexed. I can’t think how Philip can go on so!’

      ‘Hush! hush, Amy, you know nothing about it. He has reasons—’

      ‘I know,’ said Amy, indignantly; ‘but what right has he to go on mistrusting? If people are to be judged by their deeds, no one is so good as Guy, and it is too bad to reckon up against him all his ancestors have done. It is wolf and lamb, indeed.’

      ‘He does not!’ cried Laura. ‘He never is unjust! How can you say so, Amy?’

      ‘Then why does he impute motives, and not straightforwardly tell what he means?’

      ‘It is impossible in this case,’ said Laura.

      ‘Do you know what it is?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Laura, perfectly truthful, and feeling herself in a dreadful predicament.

      ‘And you can’t tell me?’

      ‘I don’t think I can.’

      ‘Nor Guy?’

      ‘Not for worlds,’ cried Laura, in horror.

      ‘Can’t you get Philip to tell him?’

      ‘Oh no, no! I can’t explain it, Amy; and all that can be done is to let it die away as fast as possible. It is only the rout about it that is of consequence.’

      ‘It is very odd,’ said Amy, ‘but I must dress,’ and away she ran, much puzzled, but with no desire to look into Philip’s secrets.

      Laura rested her head on her hand, sighed, and wondered why it was so hard to answer. She almost wished she had said Philip had been advising her to discourage any attachment on Guy’s part; but then Amy might have laughed, and asked why. No! no! Philip’s confidence was in her keeping, and cost her what it might, she would be faithful to the trust.

      There was now a change. The evenings were merry, but the mornings were occupied. Guy went off to his room, as he used to do last winter; Laura commenced some complicated perspective, or read a German book with a great deal of dictionary; Amy had a book of history, and practised her music diligently; even Charles read more to himself, and resumed the study with Guy and Amy; Lady Eveleen joined in every one’s pursuits, enjoyed them, and lamented to Laura that it was impossible to be rational at her own home.

      Laura tried to persuade her that there was no need that she should be on the level of the society round her, and it ended in her spending an hour in diligent study every morning, promising to continue it when she went home, while Laura made such sensible comments that Eveleen admired her more than ever; and she, knowing that some were second-hand from Philip, others arising from his suggestions, gave him all the homage paid to herself, as a tribute to him who reigned over her whole being.

      Yet she was far from happy. Her reserve towards Guy made her feel stiff and guarded; she had a craving for Philip’s presence, with a dread of showing it, which made her uncomfortable. She wondered he had not been at Hollywell since the bail, for he must know that she was going to Ireland in a fortnight, and was not likely to return till his regiment had left Broadstone.

      An interval passed long enough for her not to be alone in her surprise at his absenting himself before he at length made his appearance, just before luncheon, so as to miss the unconstrained morning hours he used so much to enjoy. He found Guy, Charles, and Amy, deep in Butler’s Analogy.

      ‘Are you making poor little Amy read that?’ said he.

      ‘Bravo!’ cried Charles; ‘he is so disappointed that it is not Pickwick that he does not know what else to say.’

      ‘I don’t suppose I take much in,’ said Amy; ‘but I like to be told what it means.’

      ‘Don’t imagine I can do that,’ said Guy.

      ‘I never spent much time over it,’ said Philip; ‘but I should think you were out of your depth.’

      ‘Very well,’ said Charles; ‘we will return to Dickens to oblige you.’

      ‘It is your pleasure to wrest my words,’ replied Philip, in his own calm manner, though he actually felt hurt, which he had never done before. His complacency was less secure, so that there was more need for self-assertion.

      ‘Where are the rest?’ he asked.

      ‘Laura and Eveleen are making a dictation lesson agreeable to Charlotte,’ said Amy; ‘I found Eva making mistakes on purpose.’

      ‘How much longer does she stay?’

      ‘Till Tuesday. Lord Kilcoran is coming to fetch her.’

      Charlotte entered, and immediately ran up-stairs to announce her cousin’s arrival. Laura was glad of this previous notice, and hoped her blush and tremor were not observed. It was a struggle, through luncheon time, to keep her colour and confusion within bounds; but she succeeded better than she fancied she did, and Philip gave her as much help as he could, by not looking at her. Seeing that he dreaded nothing so much as her exciting suspicion, she was at once braced and alarmed.

      Her father was very glad to see him, and reproached him for making himself a stranger, while her sisters counted up the days of his absence.

      ‘There was the time, to be sure, when we met you on Ashen-down, but that was a regular cheat. Laura had you all to herself.’

      Laura