“I do not understand you, child,” cried Lady Delacour, raising herself suddenly upon the sofa, and looking full in her daughter’s face.
Helena’s colour rose to her temples; but, with a firmness that surprised even Belinda, she repeated what she had said nearly in the same words.
“Do you understand her, Miss Portman?” said Lady Delacour.
“She expresses, I think,” said Belinda, “a very honourable sentiment, and one that is easily understood.”
“Ay, in general, certainly,” said Lady Delacour, checking herself; “but I thought that she meant to allude to something in particular—that was what I did not understand. Undoubtedly, my dear, you have just expressed a very honourable sentiment, and one that I should scarcely have expected from a child of your age.
“Helena, my dear,” said her mother, after a silence of some minutes, “did you ever read the Arabian Tales?—‘Yes, mamma,’ I know must be the answer. But do you remember the story of Zobeide, who carried the porter home with her on condition that, let him hear or see what he might, he would ask no questions?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“On the same conditions should you like to stay with me for a few days?”
“Yes. On any conditions, mamma, I should like to stay with you.”
“Agreed, then, my dear!” said Lady Delacour. “Now let us go to the gold fishes, and see them eat lemna, or whatever you please to call it.”