To-day, Emily St. Aubyn was complaisant even to friendliness. Her sister had completely appropriated Captain Vandeleur, so Emily gave herself up to feminine gossip. There were some subjects which she really wanted to discuss with Miss Bridgeman, and this seemed a golden opportunity. "Are we really going to have tea at the farmhouse near St. Nectan's Kieve?" she asked. "Didn't you hear Mrs. Tregonell say so?" inquired Jessie, dryly. "I did; but I could not help wondering a little. Was it not at the Kieve that poor Mr. Hamleigh was killed?" "Yes." "Don't you think it just a little heartless of Mrs. Tregonell to choose that spot for a pleasure party?" "The farmhouse is not the Kieve: they are at least a mile apart." "That's a mere quibble, Miss Bridgeman: the association is just the same, and she ought to feel it." "Mrs. Tregonell is my very dear friend," answered Jessie. "She and her aunt are the only friends I have made in this world. You can't suppose that I shall find fault with her conduct?" "No, I suppose not. You would stand by her through thick and thin?" "Through thick and thin." "Even at the sacrifice of principle?" "I should consider gratitude and friendship the governing principles of my life where she is concerned." "If she were to go ever so wrong, you would still stand by her?" "Stand by her, and cleave to her--walk by her side till death, wherever the path might lead. I should not encourage her in wrong-doing. I should lift up my voice when there was need: but I should never forsake her." "That is your idea of friendship?" "Unquestionably. To my mind, friendship which implies anything less than that is meaningless. However, there is no need for heroics: Mrs. Tregonell is not going to put me to the test." "I hope not. She is very sweet. I should be deeply pained if she were to go wrong. But do you know that my mother does not at all like her manner with the Baron. My sister and I are much more liberal-minded, don't you know; and we can understand that all she says and does is mere frivolity--high spirits which must find some outlet. But what surprises me is that she should be so gay and light-hearted after the dreadful events of her life. If such things had happened to me, I should inevitably have gone over to Rome, and buried myself in the severest conventual order that I could find." "Yes, there have been sad events in her life: but I think she chose the wiser course in doing her duty by the aunt who brought her up, than in self-immolation of that kind," answered Jessie, with her thin lips drawn to the firmest line they were capable of assuming. "But think what she must have suffered last year when that poor man was killed. I remember meeting him at dinner when they were first engaged. Such an interesting face--the countenance of a poet. I could fancy Shelley or Keats exactly like him." "We have their portraits," said Jessie, intolerant of gush. "There is no scope for fancy."