“But you must be sensible,” said Mrs. Temple, in a graver tone, “that it will depend upon yourselves, in a great measure, whether I can be so much your friend as I shall wish.”
“Oh, mother,” said Helen, “be my friend! I shall never have a better; and, indeed, I want a friend,” added she, the tears starting from her eyes. “You’ll think me very silly, very vain. He never gave me any reason, I’m sure, to think so; but I did fancy that Mr. Mountague liked me.”
“And,” said Mrs. Temple, taking her daughter’s hand, “without being very silly or very vain, may not one sometimes be mistaken? Then you thought you had won Mr. Mountague’s heart? But what did you think about your own? Take care you don’t make another mistake (smiling). Perhaps you thought he never could win yours?”
“I never thought much about that,” replied Helen, “till yesterday.”
“And to-day,” said Mrs. Temple—“what do you think about it to-day?”
“Why,” said Helen, “don’t you think, mother, that Mr. Mountague has a great many good qualities?”
“Yes; a great many good qualities, a great many advantages, and, amongst them, the power of pleasing you.”
“He would not think that any advantage,” said Helen; “therefore I should be sorry that he had it.”
“And so should I,” said Mrs. Temple, “be very sorry that my daughter’s happiness should be out of her own power.”
“It is the uncertainty that torments me,” resumed Helen, after a pause. “One moment I fancy that he prefers me, the next moment I am certain he prefers another. Yesterday, when we were coming away from the green, I heard Mrs. Hargrave say to Lady S—— but why, mother, should I take up your time with these minute circumstances? I ought not to think any more about it.”