Long, it must be owned, it was not found by any of the little party. Gertrude and Eira were enjoying themselves under the escort of Horace’s friend, young French, who could make himself very entertaining; Mr Charlemont and Mr Darnley, on each side of Madeleine, were interesting her by a discussion on one of her pet hobbies in a philanthropic direction; and Frances, bringing up the rear with Mr Morion, found herself more nearly on common ground with him—thanks in part, no doubt, to the unexpected side-light Horace had thrown on his character—than a few hours previously she could have believed possible. And it was pleasant to her to feel that the young man’s influence bid fair to dissipate the prejudices she had half-unconsciously harboured. Once or twice even she glanced round with a half-formed wish that Horace should notice how well she and her far-off cousin were getting on. But he was some way ahead with Betty.
“I can tell him about it afterwards,” she thought, with a curious little thrill at the realisation of the confidence already existing between them. Though even without this new prepossession in his favour, Ryder Morion would probably have won his way towards her esteem and liking by the quiet, unassuming manner in which he told her of his increasing interest in, and sense of responsibility for, the till now almost terra incognita of his northern possessions. It would have been affectation for him to avoid the subject after what the curate-in-charge had said, and the meeting himself on the very spot where help was most needed. And despite her own preoccupation of mind, Frances was too well trained in habitual unselfishness not to feel warmly delighted, almost indeed breathlessly so, at the projects as to which he consulted her, and the means which he proposed to lay at the disposal of herself and Mr Darnley.
Altogether the expedition seemed to have been eminently successful, and no one felt this more heartily than Eira, whose spirits were always ready to rise, and not easily depressed, save perhaps by chilblains, or the apprehension of them!
“Betty,” she said, when they were dressing rather hurriedly for dinner, “isn’t it all going on too beautifully?”
Betty was seated on the end of her bed looking somewhat fagged.
“Yes,” she agreed, “we have had a very nice day; but I must be quick!” starting up as she spoke.
“I thought it so considerate of him,” continued Eira, “to walk home with you, not to make Frances, you see, too conspicuous, as it were. Was he talking of her all the way?”
“No—no, not all the way, I don’t think,” said Betty, in the intervals of coiling up her long black hair. “I—I don’t quite remember.”
“How tiresome you are!” said Eira; “you can’t have forgotten so quickly. I thought you’d have such a lot to tell me, and that you’d be in such high spirits.”
“I never feel in high spirits when I’m tired,” said Betty, “though no doubt it isn’t right.—I don’t know,” she added to herself, “why I don’t feel as happy about it as Eira does. He couldn’t have been nicer, but can it be that he’s only friendly about us all?”