“Not constantly--so much the better,” said her husband: “a constant correspondence is always a great burthen, and moreover, sometimes a great evil, between young ladies especially--I hate the sight of ladies’ long cross-barred letters.” Helen said that Lady Cecilia’s letters were never cross-barred, always short and far between. “You seem wonderfully fond of Lady Cecilia,” said Mrs. Collingwood. “Not wonderfully,” replied Helen, “but very fond, and no wonder, we were bred up together. And”--continued she, after a little pause, “and if Lady Cecilia had not been so generous as she is, she might have been--she must have been, jealous of the partiality, the fondness, which her mother always showed me.” “But was not Lady Davenant’s heart large enough to hold two?” asked Mrs. Collingwood. “Was not she fond of her daughter?” “Yes, as far as she knew her, but she did not know Lady Cecilia.” “Not know her own daughter!” Mr. and Mrs. Collingwood both at once exclaimed, “How could that possibly be?” “Very easily,” Helen said, “because she saw so little of her.” “Was not Lady Cecilia educated at home?” “Yes, but still Lady Cecilia, when a child, was all day long with her governess, and at Cecilhurst the governess’s apartments were quite out of the way, in one of the wings at the end of a long corridor, with a separate staircase; she might as well have been in another house.” “Bad arrangement,” said Mr. Collingwood, speaking to himself as he stood on the hearth. “Bad arrangement which separates mother and daughter.” “At that time,” continued Helen, “there was always a great deal of company at Cecilhurst. Lord Davenant was one of the ministers then. I believe--I know he saw a great many political people, and Lady Davenant was forced to be always with them talking.” “Talking! yes, yes!” said Mr. Collingwood, “I understand it all--Lady Davenant is a great politician, and female politicians, with their heads full of the affairs of Europe, cannot have time to think of the affairs of their families.” “What is the matter, my dear Helen?” said Mrs. Collingwood, taking her hand. Helen had tears in her eyes and looked unhappy. “I have done very wrong,” said she; “I have said something that has given you a bad, a false opinion of one for whom I have the greatest admiration and love--of Lady Davenant. I am excessively sorry; I have done very wrong.” “Not the least, my dear child; you told us nothing but what everybody knows--that she is a great politician; you told us no more.” “But I should have told you more, and what nobody knows better than I do,” cried Helen, “that Lady Davenant is a great deal more, and a great deal better than a politician. I was too young to judge, you may think, but young as I was, I could see and feel, and children can and do often see a great deal into character, and I assure you Lady Davenant’s is a sort of deep, high character, that you would admire.”