“No! I can’t seem to make up to the good clergyman! Certainly not. Besides, I’ve heard Camilla talking to his wife!”
“Talking?”
“Admiring that dress, which she had been sneering at to your mother, don’t you remember? It was one of her honey-cups with venom below—only happily, Lady Rosamond saw through the flattery. I’m ashamed whenever I see her!”
“I don’t think that need cut you off from Julius.”
“Tell me truly,” again broke in Lenore, “what Mrs. Poynsett really is. She is a standing proverb with us for tyranny over her sons; not with Camilla alone, but with papa.”
“See how they love her!” cried Jenny, hotly.
“Camilla thinks that abject; but I can’t forget how Frank talked of her in those happy Rockpier days.”
“When you first knew him?” said Jenny.
They must have come at length to the real point, for Eleonora began at once—“Yes; he was with his sick friend, and we were so happy; and now he is being shamefully used, and I don’t know what to do!”
“Indeed, Lenore,” said Jenny, in her downright way, “I do not understand. You do not seem to care for him.”