This was all very well and very pretty, but Mrs. Burton was already beginning to feel that she was doing nothing towards the achievement of her purpose. “I suppose he has been idle,” she said, “but I did not mean to trouble you about that.” Upon hearing this, Lady Ongar smiled. This supposition that she had really intended to animadvert upon Harry Clavering’s idleness was amusing to her as she remembered how little such idleness would signify if she could only have her way.
“Poor Harry!” she said. “I supposed his sins would be laid at my door. But my idea is, you know, that he never will do any good at such work as that.”
“Perhaps not;—that is, I really can’t say. I don’t think Mr. Burton has ever expressed any such opinion; and if he had—”
“If he had, you wouldn’t mention it.”
“I don’t suppose I should, Lady Ongar;—not to a stranger.”
“Harry Clavering and I are not strangers,” said Lady Ongar, changing the tone of her voice altogether as she spoke.
“No; I know that. You have known him longer than we have. I am aware of that.”
“Yes; before he ever dreamed of going into your husband’s business, Mrs. Burton; long before he had ever been to—Stratton.”
The name of Stratton was an assistance to Cecilia, and seemed to have been spoken with the view of enabling her to commence her work. “Yes,” she said, “but nevertheless he did go to Stratton. He went to Stratton, and there he became acquainted with my sister-in-law, Florence Burton.”
“I am aware of it, Mrs. Burton.”
“And he also became engaged to her.”
“I am aware of that too. He has told me as much himself.”
“And has he told you whether he means to keep, or to break that engagement?”
“Ah, Mrs. Burton, is that question fair? Is it fair either to him, or to me? If he has taken me into his confidence and has not taken you, should I be doing well to betray him? Or if there can be anything in such a secret specially interesting to myself, why should I be made to tell it to you?”
“I think the truth is always the best, Lady Ongar.”
“Truth is always better than a lie;—so at least people say, though they sometimes act differently; but silence may be better than either.”
“This is a matter, Lady Ongar, in which I cannot be silent. I hope you will not be angry with me for coming to you—or for asking you these questions—”
“O dear, no.”
“But I cannot be silent. My sister-in-law must at any rate know what is to be her fate.”
“Then why do you not ask him?”
“He is ill at present.”
“Ill! Where is he ill? Who says he is ill?” And Lady Ongar, though she did not quite leave her chair, raised herself up and forgot all her preparations. “Where is he, Mrs. Burton? I have not heard of his illness.”
“He is at Clavering;—at the parsonage.”
“I have heard nothing of this. What ails him? If he be really ill, dangerously ill, I conjure you to tell me. But pray tell me the truth. Let there be no tricks in such a matter as this.”
“Tricks, Lady Ongar!”
“If Harry Clavering be ill, tell me what ails him. Is he in danger?”
“His mother in writing to Florence says that he is not in danger; but that he is confined to the house. He has been taken by some fever.” On that very morning Lady Ongar had received a letter from her sister, begging her to come to Clavering Park during the absence of Sir Hugh; but in the letter no word had been said as to Harry’s illness. Had he been seriously, or at least dangerously ill, Hermione would certainly have mentioned it. All this flashed across Julia’s mind as these tidings about Harry reached her. If he were not really in danger, or even if he were, why should she betray her feeling before this woman? “If there had been much in it,” she said, resuming her former position and manners, “I should no doubt have heard of it from my sister.”
“We hear that it is not dangerous,” continued Mrs. Burton; “but he is away, and we cannot see him. And, in truth, Lady Ongar, we cannot see him any more until we know that he means to deal honestly by us.”
“Am I the keeper of his honesty?”
“From what I have heard, I think you are. If you will tell me that I have heard falsely, I will go away and beg your pardon for my intrusion. But if what I have heard be true, you must not be surprised that I show this anxiety for the happiness of my sister. If you knew her, Lady Ongar, you would know that she is too good to be thrown aside with indifference.”
“Harry Clavering tells me that she is an angel—that she is perfect.”
“And if he loves her, will it not be a shame that they should be parted?”
“I said nothing about his loving her. Men are not always fond of perfection. The angels may be too angelic for this world.”
“He did love her.”
“So I suppose;—or at any rate he thought that he did.”
“He did love her, and I believe he loves her still.”
“He has my leave to do so, Mrs. Burton.”
Cecilia, though she was somewhat afraid of the task which she had undertaken, and was partly awed by Lady Ongar’s style of beauty and demeanour, nevertheless felt that if she still hoped to do any good, she must speak the truth out at once. She must ask Lady Ongar whether she held herself to be engaged to Harry Clavering. If she did not do this, nothing could come of the present interview.
“You say that, Lady Ongar, but do you mean it?” she asked. “We have been told that you also are engaged to marry Mr. Clavering.”
“Who has told
