“In this point I cannot answer for myself,” said the old man. “I have had an experience bitterer than usual; but let us not speak of that: we have had enough of Halbert Graeme. Who are to be your guests, Lilias, in our first essay at hospitality? have you determined?”
“I specially beg an invitation for only one,” said Lilias; “and perhaps I do ill to ask that; but—I remember what it is to be poor and alone.”
“And who is your one guest?” said Mossgray.
“It is Helen Buchanan;—you have seen her, Mossgray; she is only a humble teacher in Fendie: but she is—”
“I know her,” said the courteous Adam Graeme, to whom the word gentlewoman was, as to Hope Oswald, the highest of feminine titles. “Why should you hesitate to invite her, Lilias?”
“Because,” said Lilias, with a smile, “the young ladies, the young landed ladies, Mossgray, may think her not good enough to meet them; but I made a promise to Hope Oswald to do what I could to honour Helen in the presence of Hope’s father.”
“So Hope begins to scheme,” said Mossgray, smiling; “and the cause, Lilias?”
“I think it has some connection with Mr William Oswald; indeed, Mrs Oswald almost told me that his father’s very stern resolution alone prevents—”
“I understand,” said the old man, as Lilias hesitated and blushed with a not unnatural sympathy. “His father’s resolution—pooh! his father will break it.”
“Do you think so, Mossgray?”