“I could find it in my heart to scold you to death,” said Lady Cecilia, “but that I am vexed myself.”
Then hesitating, and studying Helen’s countenance, she seemed doubtful how to proceed. Either she was playing with Helen’s curiosity, or she was really herself perplexed. She made two or three beginnings, each a little inconsistent with the other.
“Mamma is always right; with her—‘coming events’ really and truly ‘cast their shadows before.’ I do believe she has the fatal gift, the coming ill to know!”
“Ill!” said Helen; “what ill is coming?”
“After all, however, it may not be an ill,” said Lady Cecilia; “it may be all for the best; yet I am shockingly disappointed, though I declare I never formed any—”
“Oh, my dear Cecilia, do tell me at once what it is you mean.”
“I mean, that Granville Beauclerc, like all men of genius, has acted like the greatest fool.”
“What has he done?”
“He is absolutely—you must look upon him in future—as a married man.”
Helen was delighted. Cecilia could form no farther schemes on her account, and she felt relieved from all her awkwardness.