‘Oh! how much worse it must be to bear with ill-temper in poverty,’ said Emily, ‘when we think it quite wonderful to see a young lady kind and patient with a cross old relation; what must it be when she is denying herself, not only her pleasure, but her food for her sake; not merely sitting quietly with her all day, and calling a servant to wait upon her, but toiling all day to maintain her, and keeping awake half the night to nurse her?’ ‘Those are realities, indeed,’ said Alethea; ‘our greatest efforts seem but child’s play in comparison.’ Lilias could hardly have helped being sobered by this conversation if she had attended to it, but she had turned away to repeat the story of Mrs. Walls to Jane, and then, fancying that the others were still remarking upon it, she said in a light, laughing tone, ‘Well, so far I agree with you. I know of a person who may well be called one of ourselves, who I could quite fancy making such a speech.’ ‘Whom do you mean?’ said Mr. Devereux. Alethea wished she did not know. ‘No very distant relation,’ said Jane. ‘Do not talk nonsense, Jane,’ said Claude, gravely. ‘No nonsense at all, Claude,’ cried Jane in her very very pertest tone, ‘it is exactly like Eleanor; I am sure I can see her with her hands before her, saying in her prim voice, “I must turn my old black silk and trim it with crape, for I have had a misfortune, and lost my brother.”’ ‘Lilias,’ said Miss Weston, somewhat abruptly, ‘did you not wish to sing with me this evening?’ And thus she kept Lilias from any further public mischief that evening. Claude, exceedingly vexed by what had passed, with great injustice, laid the blame upon Miss Weston, and instead of rendering her the honour which she really deserved for the tact with which she had put an end to the embarrassment of all parties, he fancied she was anxious to display her talents for music, and thus only felt fretted by the sounds. Mr. Weston and his daughter intended to walk home that evening, as it was a beautiful moonlight night. ‘Oh, let us convoy you!’ exclaimed Lilias; ‘I do long to show Alethea a glow-worm. Will you come, Claude? May we, papa? Feel how still and warm it is. A perfect summer night, not a breath stirring.’