I began this book with the intention of concealing nothing; that those who liked might have the benefit of perusing a fellow-creature’s heart: but we have some thoughts that all the angels in heaven are welcome to behold, but not our brother-men—not even the best and kindest amongst them.
By this time the Greens had taken themselves to their own abode, and the Murrays had turned down the private road, whither I hastened to follow them. I found the two girls warm in an animated discussion on the respective merits of the two young officers; but on seeing me Rosalie broke off in the middle of a sentence to exclaim, with malicious glee—
“Oh-ho, Miss Grey! you’re come at last, are you? No wonder you lingered so long behind; and no wonder you always stand up so vigorously for Mr. Weston when I abuse him. Ah-ha! I see it all now!”
“Now, come, Miss Murray, don’t be foolish,” said I, attempting a good-natured laugh; “you know such nonsense can make no impression on me.”
But she still went on talking such intolerable stuff—her sister helping her with appropriate fiction coined for the occasion—that I thought it necessary to say something in my own justification.
“What folly all this is!” I exclaimed. “If Mr. Weston’s road happened to be the same as mine for a few yards, and if he chose to exchange a word or two in passing, what is there so remarkable in that? I assure you, I never spoke to him before: except once.”
“Where? where? and when?” cried they eagerly.
“In Nancy’s cottage.”
“Ah-ha! you’ve met him there, have you?” exclaimed Rosalie, with exultant laughter. “Ah! now, Matilda, I’ve found out why she’s so fond of going to Nancy Brown’s! She goes there to flirt with Mr. Weston.”
“Really, that is not worth contradicting—I only saw him there once, I tell you—and how could I know he was coming?”