Helen, who possessed no standard by which to measure such prejudices, was far less indulgent towards them; her joyous, happy nature--the heirloom of her father's house--led her rather to jest than argue on these topics, and she contrasted the less apt and ready apprehension of Forester with the native quickness of her brother Lionel, disadvantageous to the former. She was sorry, too, that he was going; more so, because his society was so pleasing to her mother, and that before him, Lady Eleanor exerted herself in a way which eventually reacted favorably on her own health and spirits. Further than this, her interest in him was weak. Not so Forester: he was hopelessly, inextricably, in love, not the less so that he would not acknowledge it to himself; far more so because he had made no impression on the object of his passion. There is a period in every story of affection when the flame grows the brighter because unreflected, and seems the more concentrated because unreturned. Forester was in this precise stage of the malady; he was as much piqued by the indifference as fascinated by the charms of Helen Darcy. The very exertions he made for victory stimulated his own passion; while, in her efforts to interest or amuse him, he could not help feeling the evidence of her indifference to him. We have said that the conversation was broken and interrupted; at length it almost ceased altogether, a stray remark of Lady Eleanor's, followed by a short reply from Forester, alone breaking the silence. Nor were these always very pertinent, inasmuch as the young aide-de-camp occasionally answered his own reflections, and not the queries of his hostess. “An interesting time in Dublin, no doubt,” said Lady Eleanor, half talking to herself; “for though the forces are unequal, and victory and defeat predestined, there will be a struggle still.” “Yes, madam, a brief one,” answered Forester, dreamily, comprehending only a part of her remark. “A brief and a vain one,” echoed Lady Eleanor. “Say, rather, a glorious one,” interposed Helen; “the last cheer of a sinking crew!” Forester looked up, startled into attention by the energy of these few words. “I should say so too, Helen,” remarked her mother, “if they were not accessory to their own misfortunes.” “Nay, nay, Mamma, you must not remember their failings in their hour of distress; there is a noble-hearted minority untainted yet.” “There will be a majority of eighteen,” said Forester, whose thoughts were wandering away, while he endeavored to address himself to what he believed they were saying; nor was he aware of his error till aroused by the laughter of Lady Eleanor and her daughter. “Eighteen!” reiterated he, solemnly. “How few!” remarked Lady Eleanor, almost scornfully. “You should say, how costly, Mamma!” exclaimed Helen. “These gentlemen are as precious from their price as their rarity!”