"No, I didn't," put in Lady Harriet.
"And besides, if you didn't, it was the fault of the tiresome people
who drove you into such straits--yes, it was certainly their fault,
not yours--and then you know the conventions of society--ah, what
trammels they are!"
Lady Harriet was silent for a minute or two; then she said,--"Tell
me, Clare; you've told lies sometimes, haven't you?"
"Lady Harriet! I think you might have known me better; but I know you
don't mean it, dear."
"Yes, I do. You must have told white lies, at any rate. How did you
feel after them?"
"I should have been miserable if I ever had. I should have died of
self-reproach. 'The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth,' has always seemed to me such a fine passage. But then I have
so much that is unbending in my nature, and in our sphere of life
there are so few temptations. If we are humble, we are also simple,
and unshackled by etiquette."
"Then you blame me very much? If somebody else will blame me, I
sha'n't be so unhappy at what I said this morning."
"I am sure I never blamed you, not in my innermost heart, dear Lady
Harriet. Blame you, indeed! That would be presumption in me."
"I think I shall set up a confessor! and it sha'n't be you, Clare,
for you have always been only too indulgent to me."
After a pause she said,--"Can you give me some lunch, Clare? I don't
mean to go home till three. My 'business' will take me till then, as
the people at the Towers are duly informed."
"Certainly. I shall be delighted! but you know we are very simple in
our habits."
"Oh, I only want a little bread-and-butter, and perhaps a slice of
cold meat--you must not give yourself any trouble, Clare--perhaps you
dine now? let me sit down just like one of your family."
"Yes, you shall; I won't make any alteration;--it will be so pleasant
to have you sharing our family meal, dear Lady Harriet. But we dine
late, we only lunch now. How low the fire is getting; I really am
forgetting everything in the pleasure of this tête-à-tête!"
So she rang twice; with great distinctness, and with a long pause
between the rings. Maria brought in coals.
But the signal was as well understood by Cynthia as the "Hall of
Apollo" was by the servants of Lucullus. The brace of partridges that
were to have been for the late dinner were instantly put down to the
fire; and the prettiest china brought out, and the table decked with
flowers and fruit, arranged with all Cynthia's usual dexterity and
taste. So that when the meal was announced, and Lady Harriet entered
the room, she could not but think her hostess's apologies had been
quite unnecessary; and be more and more convinced that Clare had
done very well for herself. Cynthia now joined the party, pretty
and elegant as she always was; but somehow she did not take Lady
Harriet's fancy; she only noticed her on account of her being her
mother's daughter. Her presence made the conversation more general,
and Lady Harriet gave out several pieces of news, none of them of any
great importance to her, but as what had been talked about by the
circle of visitors assembled at the Towers.