'As if she did not know all about them as well as I can tell her.

She does not care for my news, I see no one to hear gossip from. I thought you undertook all the formal correspondence, Emily?'

'Do you call a letter to your sister formal correspondence!'

'Everything is formal with her. All I can say is, that you and William are going to the ball, and she will say that is very silly.'

'Eleanor once went to this Raynham ball; it was her first and last,'

said Emily.

'Yes, not long before they went to Italy; it will only make her melancholy to speak of it--I declare I cannot write.'

'And I have no time,' said Emily, 'and you know how vexed she is if she does not get her letter every Sat.u.r.day.'

'All for the sake of punctuality, nothing else,' said Lily. 'I rather like to disappoint fidgety people--don't you, Emily?'

'Well,' said Emily, 'only papa does not like that she should be disappointed.'

'You might have written, if you had not dawdled away all the morning.'

This was true, and it therefore stung Emily, who complained that Lily was very unkind. Lily defended herself sharply, and the dispute was growing vehement, when William happily cut it short by a summons to Emily to make haste.

When they were gone Lily had time for reflection. Good-temper was so common a virtue, and generally cost her so little effort, that she took no pains to cultivate it, but she now felt she had lost all claim to be considered amiable under disappointment. It was too late to bear the privation with a good grace. She was heartily ashamed of having been so cross about a trifle, and ashamed of being discontented at Emily's having a pleasure in which she could not share. Would this have been the case a year ago? She was afraid to ask herself the question, and without going deep enough into the history of her own mind to make her sorrow and shame profitable, she tried to satisfy herself with a superficial compensation, by making herself particularly agreeable to her three younger sisters, and by writing a very long and entertaining letter to Eleanor.

She met Emily with a cheerful face the next day, and listened with pleasure to her history of the ball; and when Mr. Mohun returned home he saw that the cloud had pa.s.sed away. But, alas! Lilias neglected to take the only means of preventing its recurrence.

The next week William departed. Before he went he gave his sisters great pleasure by desiring them to write to him, and not to let him fall into his ancient state of ignorance respecting the affairs of Beechcroft.

'Mind,' was his farewell speech, 'I expect you to keep me au courant du jour. I will not be in the dark about your best friends and neighbours when I come home next July.'

CHAPTER XVI--VANITY AND VEXATION

'And still I have to tell the same sad tale Of wasted energies, and idle dreams.'

Devereux Castle now became the great resort of the Miss Mohuns. They were always sure of a welcome there. Lady Rotherwood liked to patronise them, and Florence was glad of their society.

This was quite according to the wishes of Emily, who now had nothing left to desire, but that the style of dress suitable, in her opinion, to the granddaughter of the Marquis of Rotherwood, was more in accordance with the purse of the daughter of the Esquire of Beechcroft. It was no part of Emily's character to care for dress.

She was at once too indolent and too sensible; she saw the vulgarity of finery, and only aimed at simplicity and elegance. During their girlhood Emily and Lilias had had no more concern with their clothes than with their food; Eleanor had carefully taught them plain needlework, and they had a.s.sisted in making more than one set of shirts; but they had nothing to do with the choice or fashion of their own apparel. They were always dressed alike, and in as plain and childish a manner as they could be, consistently with their station. On Eleanor's marriage a suitable allowance was given to each of them, in order that they might provide their own clothes, and until Rachel left them they easily kept themselves in very good trim.

When Esther came Lily cheerfully took the trouble of her own small decorations, considering it as her payment for the pleasure of having Esther in the house. Emily, however, neglected the useful 'st.i.tch in time,' till even 'nine' were unavailing. She soon found herself compelled to buy new ready-made articles, and expected Lilias to do the same. But Lilias demurred, for she was too wise to think it necessary to ruin herself in company with Emily, and thus the two sisters were no longer dressed alike. A constant fear tormented Emily lest she should disgrace Lady Rotherwood, or be considered by some stranger as merely a poor relation of the great people, and not as the daughter of the gentleman of the oldest family in the county.

She was, therefore, anxious to be perfectly fashionable, and not to wear the same things too often, and in her disinterested desire to maintain the dignity of the family the allowance which she received at Christmas melted away in her hands.

Lily, though exempt from this folly, was not in a satisfactory state of mind. She was drawn off from her duties by a kind of spell. It was not that she liked Florence's society better than her home pursuits.

Florence was indeed a very sweet-tempered and engaging creature; but her mind was not equal to that of Lilias, and there was none of the pleasure of relying upon her, and looking up to her, which Lilias had learnt to enjoy in the company of her brother Claude, and of Alethea Weston. It was only that Lily's own mind had been turned away from her former occupations, and that she did not like to resume them.

She had often promised herself to return to her really useful studies, and her positive duties, as soon as her brothers were gone; but day after day pa.s.sed and nothing was done, though her visits to the cottages and her lessons to Phyllis were often neglected. Her calls at Devereux Castle took up many afternoons. Florence continually lent her amusing books, her aunt took great interest in her music, and she spent much time in practising. The mornings were cold and dark, and she could not rise early, and thus her time slipped away, she knew not how, uselessly and unsatisfactorily. The three younger ones were left more to themselves, and to the maids.

Jane sought for amus.e.m.e.nt in village gossip, and the little ones, finding the nursery more agreeable than the deserted drawing-room, made Esther their companion.

Mr. Mohun had, at this time, an unusual quant.i.ty of business on his hands; he saw that the girls were not going on well, but he had reasons for not interfering at present, and he looked forward to Eleanor's visit as the conclusion of their trial.

'I cannot think,' said Marianne Weston one day to her sister, 'why Mr. Mohun comes here so often.'

Alethea told her he had some business with their mamma, and she thought no more of the matter, till she was one day questioned by Jane. She was rather afraid of Jane, who, as she thought, disliked her, and wished to turn her into ridicule; so it was with no satisfaction that she found herself separated from the others in the course of a walk, and submitted to a cross-examination.

Jane asked, in a mysterious manner, who had been at Broomhill that morning.

'Mr. Mohun,' said Marianne.

'What did he go there for?' said Jane.

'Alethea says he has some business with mamma.'

'Then you did not hear what it was?'

'I was not in the room.'

'Are you never there when he comes?'

'Sometimes.'

'And is Alethea there?'

'Oh yes!'

'His business must be with her too. Cannot you guess it?'

'No,' said Marianne, looking amazed.

'How can you be so slow?'

'I am not sure that I would guess if I could,' said Marianne, 'for I do not think they wish me to know.'

'Oh! nonsense, it is fine fun to find out secrets,' said Jane. 'You will know it at last, you may be sure, so there can be no harm in making it out beforehand, so as to have the pleasure of triumph when the wise people vouchsafe to admit you into their confidence; I am sure I know it all.'

'Then please do not tell me, Jane, I ought not to hear it.'

'Little Mrs. Propriety,' said Jane, 'you are already a.s.suming all the dignity of my Aunt Marianne, and William's Aunt Marianne--oh! and of little Henry's Great-aunt Marianne. Now,' she added, laughing, 'can you guess the secret?'

Marianne stood still in amazement for a moment, and then exclaimed, 'Jane, Jane! you do not mean it, you are only trying to tease me.'

'I am quite serious,' said Jane. 'You will see that I am right.'

Here they were interrupted, and as soon as she returned from her walk Marianne, perplexed and amazed, went to her mother, and told her all that Jane had said.

'How can she be so silly?' said Mrs. Weston.