“The only service, General Clarendon,” said Helen, her manner becoming composed, and her voice steadying as she went on—“the only service you can do me now is to tell me the plain truth, and this will prevent what would certainly be a misfortune to me—perhaps to all of us. Will you read this letter?”
He received it with an air of great interest, and again moved the chair to her. Before she sat down, she added,—
“I am unused to the world, you see, General Clarendon. I have been accustomed to live with one who always told me his mind sincerely, so that I could judge always what I ought to do. Will you do so now? It is the greatest service, as well as favour, you can do me.”
“Depend upon it, I will,” said General Clarendon.
“I should not ask you to tell me in words—that might be painful to your politeness; only let me see it,” said Helen, and she sat down.
The general read on without speaking, till he came to the mention of Helen’s original promise of living with the Collingwoods. He did not comprehend that passage, he said, showing it to her. He had always, on the contrary, understood that it had been a long settled thing, a promise between Miss Stanley and Lady Cecilia, that Helen should live with Lady Cecilia when she married.
“No such thing!” Helen said. “No such agreement had ever been made.”
So the general now perceived; but this was a mistake of his which he hoped would make no difference in her arrangements, he said: “Why should it?—unless Miss Stanley felt unhappy at Clarendon Park?”
He paused, and Helen was silent: then, taking desperate resolution, she answered,—
“I should be perfectly happy here, if I were sure of your wishes, your feelings about me—about it.”