Arabella affected to show that they had their troubles; but her statement made it clear that the servants of Brookfield were peculiarly favoured servants, as it was their mistress's pride to make them. Eventually Adela consented to drink some sparkling light wine; and being thirsty she drank eagerly, and her tongue was loosed, insomuch that she talked of things as one who had never been a blessed inhabitant of the kingdom of Fine Shades. She spoke of 'Cornelia's chances;' of 'Wilfrid's headstrong infatuation--or worse;' and of 'Papa's position,' remarking that she could both laugh and cry. Arabella, glad to see her refreshed, was pained by her rampant tone; and when Adela, who had fallen into one of her reflective 'long-shot' moods, chanced to say, “What a number of different beings there are in the world!” her reply was, “I was just then thinking we are all less unlike than we suppose.” “Oh, my goodness!” cried Adela. “What! am I at all--at all--in the remotest degree--like that creature we have got rid of?” The negative was not decisively enunciated or immediate; that is, it did not come with the vehemence and volume that could alone have satisfied Adela's expectation. The “We are all of one family” was an offensive truism, of which Adela might justly complain. That night the ladies received their orders from Wilfrid--they were to express no alarm before their father as to the state of his health, or to treat him ostensibly as an invalid; they were to marvel publicly at Mrs. Chump's continued absence, and a letter requesting her to return was to be written. At the sign of an expostulation, Wilfrid smote them down by saying that the old man's life hung on a thread, and it was for them to cut it or not. CHAPTER XXXIV Lady Charlotte was too late for Emilia, when she went forth to her to speak for Wilfrid. She found the youth Braintop resting heavily against a tree, muttering to himself that he had no notion where he was, as an excuse for his stationary posture, while the person he presumed he should have detained was being borne away. Near him a scrap of paper lay on the ground, struck out of darkness by long slips of light from the upper windows. Thinking this might be something purposely dropped, she took possession of it; but a glance subsequently showed her that the writing was too fervid for a female hand. “Or does the girl write in that way?” she thought. She soon decided that it was Wilfrid who had undone her work in the line of thirsty love-speech. “How can a little fool read them and not believe any lie that he may tell!” she cried to herself. She chose to say contemptuously: “It's like a child proclaiming he is hungry.” That it was couched in bad taste she positively conceived--taking the paper up again and again to correct her memory. The termination, “Your lover,” appeared to her, if not laughable, revolting. She was uncertain in her sentiments at this point.