“And as it has been ever since the beginning of the world and will be to the end,” replied Mr. Collingwood. “Only I thought in Dean Stanley’s case—however, I am glad his niece does not see it as we do.”
No—with all Helen’s natural quickness of sensibility, she suspected nothing, saw nothing in each excuse but what was perfectly reasonable and kind; she was sure that her uncle’s friends could not mean to neglect her. In short, she had an undoubting belief in those she loved, and she loved all those who she thought had loved her uncle, or who had ever shown her kindness. Helen had never yet experienced neglect or detected insincerity, and nothing in her own true and warm heart could suggest the possibility of double-dealing, or even of coldness in friendship. She had yet to learn that—
“No after-friendship e’er can raze
Th’ endearments of our early days,
And ne’er the heart such fondness prove,
As when it first began to love;
Ere lovely nature is expelled,
And friendship is romantic held.
But prudence comes with hundred eyes,
The veil is rent, the vision flies,
The dear illusions will not last,
The era of enchantment’s past:
The wild romance of life is done,
The real history begun!”
CHAPTER II.
Some time after this, Mr. Collingwood, rising from the breakfast-table, threw down the day’s paper, saying there was nothing in it; Mrs. Collingwood glancing her eye over it exclaimed—
“Do you call this nothing? Helen, hear this!
“Marriage in high life—At the ambassador’s chapel, Paris, on the 16th instant, General Clarendon to Lady Cecilia Davenant, only daughter of Earl and Countess Davenant.”
“Married! absolutely married!” exclaimed Helen: “I knew it was to be, but so soon I did not expect. Ambassador’s chapel—where did you say?—Paris? No, that must be a mistake, they are all at Florence—settled there, I thought their letters said.”