Lady Cecilia could not speak.
“You need not—I am answered,” said Miss Clarendon; and returning to her place, she remained silent for some minutes.
The general rang, and inquired if Mr. Beauclerc had come in.
“No.”
The general made no observation and then began some indifferent conversation with Mrs. Pennant, in which Lady Cecilia forced herself to join; she dreaded even Miss Clarendon’s silence—that grim repose,—and well she might.
“D’Aubigny’s Memoirs, I think, was the title of the book, aunt, that the dentist talked of? That is the book you burnt, is not it, brother?—a chapter in that book?”
“Yes,” said the general.
And again Miss Clarendon was silent; for though she well recollected what she had heard at Florence, and however strong were her suspicions, she might well pause; for she loved her brother before every thing but truth and justice,—she loved her brother too much to disturb his confidence. “I have no proof,” thought she; “I might destroy his happiness by another word, and I may be wrong.”
“But shall not we see Miss Stanley?” said Mrs. Pennant.
Lady Cecilia was forced to explain that Helen was not very well, would not appear till after dinner—nothing very much the matter—a little faintish.