Lady Cecilia, her tears dispersed, stood looking at the impression which her mother’s signet-ring had left in the palm of her hand. It was at that moment a disagreeable recollection that the motto of that ring was “Truth.” Rubbing the impress from her hand, she said, half speaking to herself, and half to Helen--“I am sure I did not mean anything wrong; and I am sure nothing can be more true than that I never formed a regular plan in my life. After all, I am sure that so much has been said about nothing, that I do not understand anything: I never do, when mamma goes on in that way, making mountains of molehills, which she always does with me, and did ever since I was a child; but she really forgets that I am not a child. Now, it is well the general was not by; he would never have borne to see his wife so treated. But I would not, for the world, be the cause of any disagreement. Oh! Helen, my mother does not know how I love her, let her be ever so severe to me! But she never loved me; she cannot help it. I believe she does her best to love me--my poor, dear mother!” Helen seized this opportunity to repeat the warm expressions she had heard so lately from Lady Davenant, and melting they sunk into Cecilia’s heart. She kissed Helen again and again, for a dear, good peacemaker, as she always was--and “I’m resolved”--but in the midst of her good resolves she caught a glimpse through the glass door opening on the park, of the general, and a fine horse they were ringing, and she hurried out: all light of heart she went, as though “Or shake the downy _blowball_ from her stalk.” CHAPTER VII Since Lord Davenant’s arrival, Lady Davenant’s time was so much taken up with him, that Helen could not have many opportunities of conversing with her, and she was the more anxious to seize every one that occurred. She always watched for the time when Lady Davenant went out in her pony phaeton, for then she had her delightfully to herself, the carriage holding only two. It was at the door, and Lady Davenant was crossing the hall followed by Helen, when Cecilia came in with a look, unusual in her, of being much discomfited. “Another put off from Mr. Beauclerc! He will not be here to-day. I give him up.” Lady Davenant stopped short, and asked whether Cecilia had told him that probably she should soon be gone? “To be sure I did, mamma.” “And what reason does he give for his delay?” “None, mamma, none--not the least apology. He says, very cavalierly indeed, that he is the worst man in the world at making excuses--shall attempt none.” “There he is right” said Lady Davenant. “Those who are good at excuses, as Franklin justly observed, are apt to be good for nothing else.” The general came up the steps at this moment, rolling a note between his fingers, and looking displeased. Lady Davenant inquired if he could tell her the cause of Mr. Beauclerc’s delay. He could not. Lady Cecilia exclaimed--“Very extraordinary! Provoking! Insufferable! Intolerable!”