Hester was confused, too, when her investigation into her cousin’s mind was thus received. It was true enough; it was the problem which had interested her in the first place—not directly Edward in person who was the subject of it. She had tried to explain his position to herself. Now that her interest was found out, and she discovered it to be an offence to her companion, she threw herself back instinctively on a less alarming question.
“I think a great deal about Catherine,” she said.
“About Catherine—Cousin Catherine—whom I thought you disliked with all your heart?”
“You may be astonished, but it is true. I think a great deal about her. I think of her, after being kind to everybody—for now that I am grown up I begin to understand, she has been very kind to everybody; not loving them, which takes the grace out of it—but yet kind, after being so kind, to be left alone with nobody caring for her, and perhaps the one she loves best expecting when she will die. No,” said Hester, “I am glad Edward loses his head—that is what he is thinking of. Not to wait or feel as if he would like by an hour to shorten her life, but only for himself, like a man, to get free. I am very glad of it,” she added hotly, with another overwhelming blush, “for Catherine’s sake.”
Roland was bewildered and doubtful what to think, for truth was so strong in Hester that it was hard to believe she was sheltering herself behind a fiction. But he was very much mortified too.
“I don’t think,” he said, plaintively, “that I want to talk either of Cousin Catherine or of Mr. Edward, whom she thinks a great deal more of than he deserves—as, perhaps others do, too.”
“And we have come on so fast and forgotten Emma!” cried Hester, with a sense of guilt. “We ought to go back and meet her. She has been a long time getting that umbrella. Don’t you think you had better leave her with Mrs. Morgan a little longer since she likes to be here?”
“I shall not disturb her if—you wish her to stay,” he meant to say if she wishes to stay, but changed his phrase and gave it emphasis, with a look of devotion. “If I thought you had any regard for my poor little sister how glad it would make me. It would do her so much good; it would alter her way of looking at things.”
“Oh, you must not think,” cried Hester, meaning, like him, to say one thing and saying another, “that Emma is likely to be influenced by me. She knows what she thinks much better than I do—Mr. Ashton, would it not turn one’s head and make one unfit for one’s other business if one was trying to make money in that way?”
“Perhaps,” Roland said.
“Has it not that effect upon you?”
“But it is my business. I don’t act for myself. I am tempted sometimes to do things I ought not to do, and sometimes I fall. Even you, if you were tempted, would sometimes fall. You would dabble in Circassians, you would find a new company too much for your virtue; shares going today for next to nothing but sure to be at a premium next week—if the bubble doesn’t burst in the meantime.”
“And does it always happen that the bubbles burst?”
“Oh, not always; but after you have done with them you don’t care what becomes of them. I never thought I should have had you for half an hour all to myself, and talked of business the whole time. It is incredible; and there is that little Emma running this way as if she thought we were inconsolable for the loss of her. I wanted to tell you how much I have been thinking of all our talks since I have been in my little house alone. Did you never think of coming to London? The very feeling of being in a place so full of life and action, and thinking, makes your veins thrill. I think you would like to be there. There is so much going on. And then I might have the hope of seeing you sometimes. That is one for you and two for myself.”
“We could not afford it,” said Hester, colouring again. “I think I should like it. I am not sure. To look on and see everybody doing a great deal would be intolerable if one had nothing to do.”
“What are you talking of?” cried Emma coming up breathless. “I couldn’t find that umbrella. I went up and down into every room in the house, and then I found I had left it in your drawing-room, Hester, and your mamma looked up when I went in, and said, ‘Back already!’ I think she must have been dozing, for we could not possibly have gone to Redborough and back in this time, could we, Roland? You two looked so comfortable by yourselves I had half a mind not to come at all: for you know two’s company but three’s none. And then I thought you didn’t know my number, and Roland would never have had the thought to bring me my gloves. But don’t be afraid, I dare say I shall pick up someone on the way.”
They walked into the town after this, and bought Emma’s gloves. Hester could not be tempted into a similar purchase, nor could she be persuaded to go to the Merridews. And she resisted all Roland’s attempts to make himself agreeable, even after Emma encountered young Reginald Merridew, who was glad enough to help her to
