“Well, well,” observed Crystal, soothingly, “I have told him the truth to-night, and perhaps he will believe it; but there! we will not talk about your brother any more. And so he left you alone with Mr. Erle, Fern?”
“Oh, yes, but we were not long alone,” returned the girl, innocently.
“You and Mr. Erle seem good friends.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” rather shyly; “he was very kind to me this evening.”
“Did he tell you anything about the beautiful Miss Selby who is to dine with her aunt, Lady Maltravers, at Belgrave House to-night? a cousin of Mr. Erle’s, Lady Denison, is to act hostess.”
“No,” returned Fern, rather faintly, but she was conscious of a sharp pain as Crystal spoke.
“And yet he meets her very often. Ah, well, young men do not tell all their little secrets. Of course Mr. Erle’s life is very different from ours; we are working bees, Fern, and he is a butterfly of fashion. When he comes here he makes himself very bright and pleasant, but we know nothing of his real life.”
“No, of course not.” But a sort of chill passed over Fern as Crystal spoke. Why did she say these sort of things so often to her? did she think it wrong for her and Mr. Erle to be friends? was she warning her, and against what? Well, it was true she knew nothing of his life excepting what he chose to tell her. He had never mentioned this Miss Selby, though, according to Percy’s account, he met her very often. Few ladies dined at Belgrave House, but to-night she was to be there. For the first time Fern’s gentle nature felt jarred and out of tune. The bright little fire had burned hollow; there was a faint clinging mist from the fog outside; the cricket had ceased to chirp. Fern glanced round her disconsolately; how poor and shabby it must look to him, she thought, after the rooms at Belgrave House.
But the next moment she started up in a conscience-stricken way. “There is mother’s step, Crystal, and we have neglected the fire; poor mother, and she will be so tired and cold.” And Fern drove back her rebellious thoughts, bravely, and seized the bellows and manipulated the fire, while Crystal drew up the old easy-chair, and placed a footstool. Mrs. Trafford smiled as she saw these preparations for her comfort; her pale face relaxed from its gravity as Fern waited upon her, taking off her bonnet, and smoothing the beautiful gray hair with eager loving fingers.
“Thank you, dearest,” she said, drawing down the girl’s face to hers; “and now tell me what you have both been doing.”