Lilias shook her head;—she did not know.
“But to be sure Helen would not come,” said Hope, ruefully. “Do you know, Miss Maxwell—”
“Do I know what, Hope?”
But Hope still hesitated.
“I mean, Miss Maxwell—if you like Helen—you are sure to like her—at least I think you will—perhaps; if you do like Helen, will you tell my father sometime how good she is—for my father does not know Helen.”
Lilias looked at Hope with a smile, and Hope returned the look with a very sagacious, perplexed, deliberative expression upon her fresh, candid face.
“You seem to be very fond of Miss Buchanan, Hope?”
“And so I am,” said Hope, blythely, “and so is everybody—only—my father does not know Helen.”
This anxious affection of Hope’s, childish at once, and chivalrous, had a great deal of interest for Lilias, and she was silent now, her thoughts almost as much occupied about Helen as were those of Helen’s youthful champion.
“Helen will like you, Miss Maxwell,” said Hope, suddenly. “I know she will; for the people have been saying so much about you since you came.”