“But,” resumed Lady Cecilia, “I could not do less than ask her here for Clarendon’s sake, when I know it pleases him; and she is very--estimable, and so I wish to make her love me if I could! But I do not think she will be nearer her point with Mr. Beauclerc, if it is her point, by coming here just now. Granville has eyes as well as ears, and contrasts will strike. I know who I wish should strike him, as she strikes me--and I think--I hope--” Helen looked distressed. “I am as innocent as a dove,” pursued Lady Cecilia; “but I suppose even doves may have their own private little thoughts and wishes.” Helen was sure Cecilia had meant all this most kindly, but she was sorry that some things had been said. She was conscious of having been interested by those letters of Mr. Beauclerc’s; but a particular thought had now been put into her mind, and she could never more say, never more feel, that such a thought had not come into her head. She was very sorry; it seemed as if somewhat of the freshness, the innocence, of her mind was gone from her. She was sorry, too, that she had heard all that Cecilia had said about Miss Clarendon; it appeared as if she was actually doomed to get into some difficulty with the general about his sister; she felt as if thrown back into a sea of doubts, and she was not clear that she could, even by opposing, end them. On the appointed Tuesday, late, Miss Clarendon arrived; a fine figure, but ungraceful, as Helen observed, from the first moment when she turned sharply away from Lady Cecilia’s embrace to a great dog of her brother’s--“Ah, old Neptune! I’m glad you’re here still.” And when Lady Cecilia would have put down his paws--“Let him alone, let him alone, dear, honest, old fellow.” “But the dear, honest, old fellow’s paws are wet, and will ruin your pretty new pelisse.” “It may be new, but you know it is not pretty,” said Miss Clarendon, continuing to pat Neptune’s head as he jumped up with his paws on her shoulders. “O my dear Esther, how can you bear him? he is so rough in his love!” “I like rough better than smooth.” The rough paw caught in her lace frill, and it was torn to pieces before “down! down!” and the united efforts of Lady Cecilia and Helen could extricate it.--“Don’t distress yourselves about it, pray; it does not signify in the least. Poor Neptune, how really sorry he looks--there, there, wag your tail again--no one shall come between us two old friends.” Her brother came in, and, starting up, her arms were thrown round his neck, and her bonnet falling back, Helen who had thought her quite plain before, was surprised to see that, now her colour was raised, and there was life in her eyes, she was really handsome.