"Well, do not look so solemn about it. I daresay I did—but lover's promises—if indeed we are lovers. Do you know, Rose, I should be very much obliged to you to take Edward off my hands—he is just the husband for you, so rustic and quiet."
"Edward to be taken off your hands, Helen!—Edward Lynne!—the protector of our childhood—the pride of the village—the very companion of Mr. Stokes—why, he dined with him last Sunday! Edward Lynne! You jest, cousin! and"— Rose Dillon paused suddenly, for she was going to add, "You ought not to jest with me." She checked herself in time; stooped down to gather some flowers to hide her agitation; felt her cheeks flush, her heart beat, her head swim, and then a chill creep through her frame. Helen had unconsciously awoke the hope which Rose had never dared to confess unto herself. The waking was ecstatic; but she knew the depth of Edward's love for Helen. She had been his confidant—she believed it was a jest—how could her cousin do otherwise than love Edward Lynne? And with this belief, she recovered the self-possession which the necessity for subduing her feelings had taught her even at that early age.
"And Rose," said Helen, in a quiet voice, "did you really think I ever intended to marry Edward Lynne?"
"Certainly, cousin. Why, you love him, do you not! Besides, he is rich—very rich in comparison to you—very, very rich. And if he were not—oh, Helen!—is he not in himself—but I need not reason—you are in your usual high spirits, and say what you do not mean."
"I do not, Rose, now, at all events. Last evening, Edward was so earnest, so affectionate, so very earnest, it is pleasant to have a true and faithful lover; but I should not quite like to break his heart—it would not be friendly, knowing him so long; for indeed," she added, gaily, "though I don't like Edward Lynne well enough to marry him, I like him too well to break his heart in downright earnest."
There are women cold and coquettish by nature. The disposition flourishes best in courtly scenes, but it will grow anywhere, ay, and flourish anywhere. It unfortunately requires but little culture; still Helen was in her novitiate. If she had not been so, she would not have cared whether Edward broke his heart or not.
"But Helen," stammered Rose, "surely—you—you have been very wrong."
"I know it—I know—there, don't you hear me say I know it, and yet your lecturing face is as long as ever. Surely," she continued pettishly, "I confess my crime; and even Mr. Stokes says, when confessed it is amended."
"Helen!" exclaimed Rose suddenly; "Helen!—if what you have now said is really true, you have only told me half the truth. Helen Marsh, you have seen some one you like better than Edward Lynne."