‘It must have been a terrible shock.’

’Such a loss—­he was so very good and clever.  Every one looked up to him—­William almost as much as the younger ones.  He never was in any scrape, had all sorts of prizes at Eton, besides getting his scholarship before he was seventeen.’

Whenever Lily could get Miss Weston alone, it was her way to talk in this manner.  She loved the sound of her own voice so well, that she was never better satisfied than when engrossing the whole conversation.  Having nothing to talk of but her books, her poor people, and her family, she gave her friend the full benefit of all she could say on each subject, while Alethea had kindness enough to listen with real interest to her long rambling discourses, well pleased to see her happy.

The next time they met, Lilias told her all she knew or imagined respecting Eleanor, and of her own debate with Claude, and ended, ’Now, Miss Weston, tell me your opinion, which would you choose for a sister, Eleanor or Emily?’

’I have some experience of Miss Mohun’s delightful manners, and none of Mrs. Hawkesworth’s, so I am no fair judge,’ said Alethea.

‘I really have done justice to Eleanor’s sterling goodness,’ said Lily.  ‘Now what should you think?’

’I can hardly imagine greater proofs of affection than Mrs. Hawkesworth has given you,’ said Miss Weston, smiling.

‘It was because it was her duty,’ said Lilias.  ’You have only heard the facts, but you cannot judge of her ways and looks.  Now only think, when Frank came home, after seven years of perils by field and flood—­there she rose up to receive him as if he had been Mr. Nobody making a morning call.  And all the time before they were married, I do believe she thought more of showing Emily how much tea we were to use in a week than anything else.’

‘Perhaps some people might have admired her self-command,’ said Alethea.

’Self-command, the refuge of the insensible?  And now, I told you about dear Harry the other day.  He was Eleanor’s especial brother, yet his death never seemed to make any difference to her.  She scarcely cried:  she heard our lessons as usual, talked in her quiet voice—­showed no tokens of feeling.’

‘Was her health as good as before?’ asked Miss Weston.

‘She was not ill,’ said Lily; ’if she had, I should have been satisfied.  She certainly could not take long walks that winter, but she never likes walking.  People said she looked ill, but I do not know.’

‘Shall I tell you what I gather from your history?’

‘Pray do.’

’Then do not think me very perverse, if I say that perhaps the grief she then repressed may have weighed down her spirits ever since, so that you can hardly remember any alteration.’

‘That I cannot,’ said Lily.  ’She is always the same, but then she ought to have been more cheerful before his death.’

‘Did not you lose him soon after your mother?’ said Alethea.