“You speak like an angel, my dear, but you do not look like one,” said Cecilia. “So woe-begone, so pale a creature, never did I see! do look at yourself in the glass; but you are too wretched to plague. Seriously, I want this brooch, and mine it must be—it is mine: I have a use for it, I assure you.”
“Well, if you have a use for it, really,” said Helen, “I should indeed be very glad——”
“Be glad then, it is mine,” said Cecilia; “and now it is yours, my dear Helen, now, not a word! pray, if you love me!”
Helen could not accept of it; she thanked Cecilia with all her heart, she felt her kindness—her generosity, but even the hitherto irresistible words, “If you love me,” were urged in vain. If she had not been in actual need of money, she might have been over-persuaded, but now her spirit of independence strengthened her resolution, and she persisted in her refusal. Lady Davenant’s bell rang, and Helen, slowly rising, took up the miserable accounts, and said, “Now I must go——”
“Where!” said Cecilia; “you look as if you had heard a knell that summoned you—what are you going to do?”
“To tell all my follies to Lady Davenant.”
“Tell your follies to nobody but me,” cried Lady Cecilia. “I have enough of my own to sympathise with you, but do not go and tell them to my mother, of all people; she, who has none of her own, how can you expect any mercy?”
“I do not; I am content to bear all the blame I so richly deserve, but I know that after she has heard me, she will tell me what I ought to do, she will find out some way of settling it all rightly, and if that can but be, I do not care how much I suffer. So the sooner I go to her the better,” said Helen.
“But you need not be in such a hurry; do not be like the man who said, ‘Je veux être l’enfant prodigue, je veux être l’enfant perdu.’ L’enfant prodigue, well and good, but why l’enfant perdu?”
“My dear Cecilia, do not play with me now—do not stop me,” said Helen anxiously. “It is serious with me now, and it is as much as I can do——”