Helen interposed. She fancied that Hope intended to repeat the same word of commendation, and the quick spirit did not choose to hear it again. She was mistaken—Hope intended to bestow upon her friend the highest title in her vocabulary—that of gentlewoman—in name of Miss Swinton.
“When Miss Swinton speaks of me so kindly,” said Helen in haste, “let me hear what she calls you, Hope.”
Hope hesitated—she liked very well to repeat the commendation to herself, but had a little tremor in saying it aloud—if Helen laughed at her!
“I don’t know—perhaps she did not mean it,” said Hope, slowly, “but Miss Swinton says I am sensible, Helen.”
Mrs Buchanan shed the rebellious hair off Hope’s open candid forehead, and Helen laughed in such kindly wise as could by no possibility mean ridicule, as her mother said,—
“And so you are, Hope—and a good bairn besides. Miss Swinton is quite right.”
Whereupon Hope launched forth into another panegyric upon Miss Swinton. Helen did not very distinctly hear her. There was a good deal of the suggestive in Hope’s conversation, and her friend had snatched from it in her hasty fashion the germ of an important idea.
“Mother,” said Helen, breaking in abruptly upon Hope, “should you like to live in Edinburgh?”
Mrs Buchanan’s mind was not so rapid as her daughter’s. She looked up with a quiet unmoved smile.
“I do not doubt I should, Helen; most people like Edinburgh; but why do you ask me?”