“Than heart!” readily responded Lady Castlefort; “never was a truer word said. Never was there a more complete sacrifice than my mother made of me; you know, Cecilia, a poor, young, innocent, helpless sacrifice, if ever there was one upon earth.”
“To a coronet,” said Lady Cecilia.
“Absolutely dragged to the altar,” continued Lady Castlefort.
“In Mechlin lace, that was some comfort,” said Cecilia laughing, and she laughed on in hope of cutting short this sad chapter of sacrifices. But Lady Castlefort did not understand raillery upon this too tender point. “I don’t know what you mean by Mechlin lace,” cried she pettishly. “Is this your friendship for me, Cecilia?”
Cecilia, justly in fear of losing the reward of all her large lay-out of flattery, fell to protesting the tenderest sympathy. “But only now it was all over, why make her heart bleed about what could not be helped?”
“Cannot be helped! Oh! there is the very thing I must ever, ever mourn.”
The embroidered cambric handkerchief was taken out of the bag; no tears, indeed, came, but there were sobs, and Cecilia not knowing how far it might go, apprehending that her ladyship meditated hysterics, seized a smelling-bottle, threw out the stopper, and presented it close under the nostrils. The good “Sels poignans d’Angleterre,” of which Felicie always acknowledged the unrivalled potency, did their business effectually. Back went the head, with an exclamation of “That’s enough! Oh, oh! too much! too much, Cecilia!”
“Are you better, my dear?” inquired Cecilia; “but indeed you must not give way to low spirits; indeed, you must not: so now to change the conversation, Louisa——”
“Not so fast, Lady Cecilia; not yet;” and now Louisa went on with a medical maundering. “As to low spirits, my dear Cecilia, I must say I agree with Sir Sib Pennyfeather, who tells me it is not mere common low spirits, but really all mind, too much mind; mind preying upon my nerves. Oh! I knew it myself. At first he thought it was rather constitutional; poor dear Sir Sib! he is very clever, Sir Sib; and I convinced him he was wrong; and so we agreed that it was all upon my mind—all; all——”
At that instant a green parrot, who had been half asleep in the corner, awoke on Lady Castlefort’s pronouncing, in an elevated tone, “All, all!” and conceiving himself in some way called upon, answered, “Poll! Poll! bit o’sugar Poll!” No small difficulty had Lady Cecilia at that moment in keeping her risible muscles in order; but she did, for Helen’s sake, and she was rewarded, for after Lady Castlefort had, all unconscious of ridicule, fed Poll from her amber bonbonniere, and sighed out once more “Mind! too much mind!” she turned to Cecilia, and said, “But, my dear, you wanted something; you had something to ask me.”