"It is not hard, and Eardly is well able to do it himself."
"But will he," said she, "I really feel curious, to see how this embryo bishop will get on, as I suppose nothing less is the object of his taking orders."
"Oh, Miss Trevor, judge not so harshly. Is it not possible that in singleness of heart, he may have gone into the Church, unmindful of all but the sacred calling? I do not pretend to judge, but I believe no worldly honour or pecuniary consideration influenced his choice, as I know his grandfather left him quite independent."
"Oh, don't tell me, Mr. Barclay, it is very unlikely; but it is natural that you should take his part because—"
"Because, what?" responded Mr. Barclay, "do you think money or interest would prompt me to say what I don't think or mean?"
"No," said Beatrice, "I think you the last person in the world to truckle to the great,—but no more of this; what kind of a being is this Frederic Eardly?"
"I am a poor judge of character, besides, you would hardly give me credit for being impartial. They say he is spoilt by his mother and sisters, by whom he is perfectly idolized and to whom he is, in return, devotedly attached."
"Come, that and helping poor Bennet, are certainly very redeeming traits; but will his giving him a preference be doing justice to you, who have done so much, and will it not—" here feeling she was going too far, she coloured.
Mr. Barclay too, was much confused; and Beatrice was greatly relieved when Mrs. Fortescue turned the conversation. She had long remarked to herself, there was a mystery about Mr. Barclay which she could not understand. There was, at times, a reserve she attributed to pride. If not well born, he was quite au fait in all the usages of well–bred society. He never spoke of his family, but Mrs. Fortescue once asked him if he had any sisters, when he replied, "Two, such as any brother might be proud of;" but, while he spoke, the blood mantled in his forehead, and fearing it might result from pride, she dropped the subject, and, for the future, avoided saying anything that might recall it, trusting that, in time, she might win his confidence.
Almost unconsciously to herself, was Ethelind, under the garb of friendship, indulging a preference from which her delicacy shrank. She could plainly see a growing attachment in Mr. Barclay to Beatrice, and could not, for a moment, suppose he could be insensible to her friend's fascinations, which certainly were very great. She was the more convinced that Mr. Barclay loved Beatrice, for his manners evidently changed, and, at times, he was absent and thoughtful, and she sometimes fancied unhappy. Once it struck her, his affections might be engaged elsewhere, and that Beatrice had shaken his faith to her to whom it was plighted. She observed Beatrice using all her efforts to attract and win Mr. Barclay, and yet she doubted if she were sincere. Many things in her conduct led to this conclusion, and showed no little coquetry in her disposition. Be it as it may, she met Mr. Barclay's attentions more than half way, and seemed never in such spirits as when with him; at any rate, poor Ethelind's delicacy took the alarm, and she resolved to crush her own growing attachment in the bud, and hide her feelings in reserve, and so great was her self–command, that her love for Mr. Barclay, was unsuspected by all save her mother.