The blood rushed over the girl’s cheek and brow; her hand trembled in his. But Harley’s familiar exclamation might have come from a father’s lips.
At this moment Helen softly approached them, and looking timidly into her guardian’s face, said, “Leonard’s mother is with him: he asks me to call and see her. May I?”
“May you! A pretty notion the signorina must form of your enslaved state of pupilage, when she hears you ask that question. Of course you may.”
“Will you come with us?”
Harley looked embarrassed. He thought of the widow’s agitation at his name; of that desire to shun him, which Leonard had confessed, and of which he thought he divined the cause. And so divining, he too shrank from such a meeting.
“Another time, then,” said he, after a pause. Helen looked disappointed, but said no more.
Violante was surprised at this ungracious answer. She would have blamed it as unfeeling in another; but all that Harley did was right in her eyes.
“Cannot I go with Miss Digby?” said she, “and my mother will go too. We both know Mrs. Fairfield. We shall be so pleased to see her again.”
“So be it,” said Harley; “I will wait here with your father till you come back. Oh, as to my mother, she will excuse the—excuse Madame Riccabocca, and you too. See how charmed she is with your father. I must stay to watch over the conjugal interests of mine.”
But Mrs. Riccabocca had too much good old country breeding to leave the countess; and Harley was forced himself to appeal to Lady Lansmere. When he had explained the case in point, the countess rose and said,