“The White House? Oh yes, Harry lives there, another cousin, and his sister.”
“Are they in the bank too?”
“Harry is; he and I do the work between us. Ladies in this country have nothing to do with business—by the way, I am forgetting Aunt Catherine.”
“That is a pity,” said Hester, not noticing his exclamation. “Then I suppose my father must have had something to do with it, for do you know, though we are poor now, he once lived there?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Then why did he go away?” said Hester musingly; “that is what I should like to find out. Do you know Cousin Catherine? you must, if you live in her house.”
“I call her Aunt Catherine,” said the young man.
“Why? Is she your aunt? And I call her cousin; but she cannot be my cousin. She is so much older. Was she angry—do you know—last night? I did not know who she was—and I was—rude.”
He laughed, and she, after a doubtful glance, laughed too.
“Oh yes, I am afraid I did know who she was—that she was Cousin Catherine; but then, who is Cousin Catherine? I had never seen her before. Mother thinks she will be very angry. Could I let her come in and disturb my mother after she was in bed? Mother thinks she will not let us stay.”
“Should you be sorry to go?”
Hester cast a long look all round from east to west, taking in the breadth of the Common glistening in the morning dew, the dark roofs of the Heronry against the trees, the glittering vanes and windows of the town on the other side.
“It is very pretty,” she said with a little sigh. “And to think what they say of England! They say it is always fog, and the sun never shines. How can people tell such lies? We should not go, we should take some small rooms in the town, and I would teach.”
“What could you teach?”
Hester looked at him with half resentment.
“Do you know many languages?” she said.
“Many languages? no!—a smattering of Greek and Latin.”
“I don’t call them languages. I mean French and Italian and German: for I know them all. I know them as well as English. I haven’t a bit of the accent Britannique: Madame Alphonse said so, and I hope she is a good authority. I will give cours, as many as they please: French one day and the others the next. Not only should I be able to help mother, but I should make a fortune, they all said. Three cours always going: I should make a great deal of money, and then in ten years or so I could retire, you know. In ten years I should only be”—here she paused in the fervour of conversation and eyed him a little with doubt in her face. Then she said quite calmly, “I forget the rest.”
Edward Vernon listened with great edification; he forgot the flower which he was going to search for.
“I am very sorry to discourage you in your plans: but I don’t think Aunt Catherine will turn you out.”
“Don’t you think so?”
Hester, after her brag, which was perfectly sincere, and of which she believed every word, felt a little disappointed to be thus brought down again.
“No, I don’t think so. She told me that you were rude, but she was not angry; she only laughed.”
At this Hester grew wildly red, and stamped her foot. “She shall not—she shall not—nobody shall laugh at me!” she cried. “I will tell mother we must go away.”
“Don’t go away. You must consider that your mother will be a great deal more comfortable here than in lodgings in town. And you know you are very young. You had better be a little older before you begin to give cours. Don’t be angry: but if you were to mount up to the desk with your short frock” (here Hester looked down at her feet, and in a sudden agony perceived the difference between her broad, old-fashioned shoes, and the pointed toes of her companion) “and short hair—” But this was more than she could bear.
“You are laughing at me! You too!” she said, with a poignant tone of mortification.
“No, my little cousin, I will not laugh; but you must let me be your friend, and show you what is best; for you are very young, you know. One can’t know everything at—”
“Fourteen,” said Hester. “Fourteen is not so very young; and girls are older than boys. Perhaps you are thinking that a boy of fourteen is not much? That is very true; but it is different with me. Mother is not strong. I have to do most of the settling, not to tire her. What I think is always what will be the best—”
“For her? To be sure,” said Edward; “so you must make up your mind to be civil to everybody, and not to quarrel.”
“Quarrel! I never quarrel. I would not for anything in the world; it is so childish.”
“I don’t think I shall find my flower this morning,” he said. “I will walk home with you if you will let me, and we can talk about everything. Have you seen the other people who live in the Heronry? Some of them will amuse you. There are two old ladies—Vernons, like the rest of us.”
“Is it Cousin Catherine that has brought us all here?”
“All of us. She is not a person to be made light of, you see.”
“And why did she bring you? Were you poor? Had you no father like me? Is she fond of you that she has you to live in her house? Do you love her?” said Hester, fixing her large curious eyes on the young man’s face.
He laughed. “Where am I to begin?” he said. “I have a father and mother, little cousin. They are not poor precisely, but neither are they rich. I can’t tell you whether Aunt Catherine is fond
