“Indeed, I don’t know, but it is beautiful,” said Herbert. “Ask Reine.”
“Oh, Reine is only a girl like myself. She will say what she thinks will please me. I have far more confidence in a gentleman,” cried Sophy; “and above all in you, Bertie, who have promised to be a brother to me,” she said, in a lower tone.
“Did I promise to be a brother?” said poor, foolish Herbert, his heart beating with vanity and pleasure.
And the evening passed amid these delights.
CHAPTER XLIII.
I NEED not follow day by day the course of Herbert’s life. Though the brother and sister went out a good deal together at first, being asked to all the great houses in the neighborhood, as became their position in the county and their recent arrival, yet there gradually arose a separation between Herbert and Reine. It was inevitable, and she had learned to acknowledge this, and did not rebel as at first; but a great many people shook their heads when it became apparent that, notwithstanding Mrs. Farrel-Austin’s warning, Herbert had been drawn into the “racketing set” whose headquarters were at the Hatch. The young man was fond of pleasure, as well as of flattery, and it was Summer, when all the ills that flesh is heir to relax their hold a little, and dissipation is comparatively harmless. He went to Ascot with the party from the Hatch, and he went to a great many other places with them; and though the friends he made under their auspices led Herbert into places much worse both for his health and mind than any the girls could lead him to, he remained faithful, so far, to Kate and Sophy, and continued to attend them wherever they went. As for Reine, she was happy enough in the comparative quiet into which she dropped when the first outbreak of gayety was over. Miss Susan, against her will, still remained at Whiteladies; against her will—yet it may well be supposed it was no pleasure to her to separate herself from the old house in which she had been born, and from which she had never been absent for so much as six months all her life. Miss Augustine, for her part, took little or no notice of the change in the household. She went her way as usual, morning and evening, to the Almshouses. When Miss Susan spoke to her, as she did sometimes, about the cottage which stood all this time furnished and ready for instant occupation, she only shook her head. “I do not mean to leave Whiteladies,” she said, calmly. Neither did Giovanna, so far as could be perceived. “You cannot remain here when we go,” said Miss Susan to her.
“There is much room in the house,” said Giovanna; “and when you go, Madame Suzanne, there will be still more. The little chamber for me and the child, what will that do to any one?”
“But you cannot, you must not; it will be improper—don’t you understand?” cried Miss Susan.
Giovanna shook her head.
“I will speak to M. Herbert,” she said, smiling in Miss Susan’s face.