‘And I am sure you do,’ she said. ‘It’s quite dreadful. You will have a fever or something. You are so careless about your health.’ Cyril saw neither the blush nor the shy look in the soft blue eyes. Bella’s eyes wore always that soft look in company, but they could harden and assume a much keener gaze during the everyday business of life. ‘I never was ill in my life,’ said Cyril, in a provokingly matter-of-fact tone, not in the least touched by this feminine interest in his welfare. It was very aggravating, but Benedick was so at first, Mrs. Dulcimer remembered. ‘How much I miss Beatrix Harefield!’ said the Vicar. ‘There is something original about that girl which always interested me--and then she has such a mind to appreciate books. I never saw so young a creature fasten as she does on a great book. She seems to have an instinct which always leads her to the best.’ ‘She is a noble creature,’ said Cyril, quietly. ‘What a wife she would have made for your cousin!’ exclaimed Mrs. Dulcimer, too eager to be able to mask her batteries altogether. ‘She would make a noble wife--for any man,’ assented Cyril. ‘Of course, but she and your cousin seemed so peculiarly suited to each other. There is something about both of them so much above the common herd--a _je ne sais quoi_--a patrician air--an aristocratic way of thinking. And then, with such a fortune as Miss Harefield’s, your cousin’s position----’ ‘Pray do not let Miss Harefield’s fortune enter into the question,’ cried Cyril, impatiently. ‘Kenrick is not a fortune-hunter, and Miss Harefield is far too noble a woman for one to tolerate the idea of her being married for her money.’ ‘My dear Cyril, I never had such an idea. You need not take me up so sharply. Kenrick a fortune-hunter!--of course not. But where these things combine----However we need not dispute about it. That wretched Mr. Harefield is resolved to immure his daughter in that dreary old house of his. She is as badly off as a princess in a fairy tale.’ ‘Worse,’ said Bella, ‘for there are no adventurous princes in these degenerate days.’ ‘How does she bear this cruel treatment?’ asked Cyril, looking at Bella for the first time, since he had shaken hands with her on arriving. ‘You see her often, don’t you, Miss Scratchell?’ ‘Two or three times a week. But she is so reserved--even with me, though we are such old friends. I never quite know what she thinks or feels. She is all that is nice--and I am devotedly attached to her--but she never treats me with the same frankness I show to her. She has looked unhappy since Mr. Harefield put a stop to her visits here--but she never complains.’ ‘I should call at the Water House,’ said Mrs. Dulcimer, ‘for I long to see the dear girl; but I really cannot face that dreadful Mr. Harefield; and, as he has forbidden Beatrix to come here, I dare say he would not allow her to see me. I wonder you are allowed to visit her, Bella.’