Tales and Novels, vol 10 | Page 4

before six months are over, that you will want some of this money to pay debts of your own."
"No, no, no," cried she; "of that there is not the slightest chance."
"And now, my dear child," said Mrs. Collingwood, "now that Mr. Collingwood has promised to do what you wish, will you do what we wish? Will you promise to remain with us? to live here with us, for the present at least; we will resign you whenever better friends may claim you, but for the present will you try us?"
"Try!" in a transport of gratitude and affection she could only repeat the words "Try! oh, my dear friends, how happy I am, an orphan, without a relation, to have such a home."
But though Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood, childless as they were, felt real happiness in having such a companion--such an adopted daughter, yet they were sure that some of Dean Stanley's great friends and acquaintance in high life would ask his niece to spend the spring in town, or the summer in the country with them; and post after post came letters of condolence to Miss Stanley from all these personages of high degree, professing the greatest regard for their dear amiable friend's memory, and for Miss Stanley, his and their dear Helen; and these polite and kind expressions were probably sincere at the moment, but none of these dear friends seemed to think of taking any trouble on her account, or to be in the least disturbed by the idea of never seeing their dear Helen again in the course of their lives.
Helen, quite touched by what was said of her uncle, thought only of him; but when she showed the letters to Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood, they marked the oversight, and looked significantly as they read, folded the letters up and returned them to Helen in silence. Afterwards between themselves, they indulged in certain comments.
"Lady C---- does not invite her, for she has too many daughters, and they are too ugly, and Helen is too beautiful," said Mrs. Collingwood.
"Lady L---- has too many sons," said Mr. Collingwood, "and they are too poor, and Helen is not an heiress now."
"But old Lady Margaret Dawe, who has neither sons nor daughters, what stands in the way there? Oh! her delicate health--delicate health is a blessing to some people--excuses them always from doing anything for anybody."
Then came many, who hoped, in general, to see Miss Stanley as soon as possible; and some who were "very anxious indeed" to have their dear Helen with them; but when or where never specified--and a general invitation, as every body knows, means nothing but "Good morning to you."
Mrs. Coldstream ends with, "I forbear to say more at present," without giving any reason.
"And here is the dean's dear duchess, always in the greatest haste, with 'You know my heart,' in a parenthesis, 'ever and ever most sincerely and affec'--yours.'"
"And the Davenants," continued Mrs. Collingwood, "who were such near neighbours, and who were so kind to the dean at Florence; they have not even written!"
"But they are at Florence still," said Mr. Collingwood, "they can hardly have heard of the poor dean's death."
The Davenants were the great people of this part of the country; their place, Cecilhurst, was close to the deanery and to the vicarage, but they were not known to the Collingwoods, who had come to Cecilhurst during the dean's absence abroad.
"And here is Mrs. Wilmot too," continued Mrs. Collingwood, "wondering as usual, at everybody else, wondering that Lady Barker has not invited Miss Stanley to Castleport; and it never enters into Mrs. Wilmot's head that she might invite her to Wilmot's fort. And this is friendship, as the world goes!"
"And as it has been ever since the beginning of the world and will be to the end," replied Mr. Collingwood. "Only I thought in Dean Stanley's case--however, I am glad his niece does not see it as we do."
No--with all Helen's natural quickness of sensibility, she suspected nothing, saw nothing in each excuse but what was perfectly reasonable and kind; she was sure that her uncle's friends could not mean to neglect her. In short, she had an undoubting belief in those she loved, and she loved all those who she thought had loved her uncle, or who had ever shown her kindness. Helen had never yet experienced neglect or detected insincerity, and nothing in her own true and warm heart could suggest the possibility of double-dealing, or even of coldness in friendship. She had yet to learn that--
"No after-friendship e'er can raze Th' endearments of our early days, And ne'er the heart such fondness prove, As when it first began to love; Ere lovely nature is expelled, And friendship is romantic held. But prudence comes with hundred eyes, The veil is rent, the