e bound to show all kindness to this young Italian lady,
still she is wholly unconnected with our family; and you will be as
prudent with her as you would have been with your correspondents, had
you had the misfortune to have any."

Lady Lansmere said the last words with a smile, and left an ungenial
kiss (the stepmother's kiss) on Helen's bended brow. She then left the
room, and Helen sat on the seat vacated by the stately, unloving form,
and again covered her face with her hands, and again wept. But when she
rose at last, and the light fell upon her face, that soft face was sad
indeed, but serene,--serene, as with some inward sense of duty, sad, as
with the resignation which accepts patience instead of hope.

CHAPTER X.

The next morning Harley appeared at breakfast. He was in gay spirits,
and conversed more freely with Violante than he had yet done. He
seemed to amuse himself by attacking all she said, and provoking her to
argument. Violante was naturally a very earnest person; whether grave or
gay, she spoke with her heart on her lips, and her soul in her eyes.
She did not yet comprehend the light vein of Harley's irony, so she grew
piqued and chafed; and she was so lovely in anger; it so brightened the
beauty and animated her words, that no wonder Harley thus maliciously
teased her. But what, perhaps, she liked still less than the
teasing--though she could not tell why--was the kind of familiarity that
Harley assumed with her,--a familiarity as if he had known her all her
life,--that of a good-humoured elder brother, or a bachelor uncle. To
Helen, on the contrary, when he did not address her apart, his manner
was more respectful. He did not call her by her Christian name, as he
did Violante, but "Miss Digby," and softened his tone and inclined his
head when he spoke to her. Nor did he presume to jest at the very few
and brief sentences he drew from Helen, but rather listened to them with
deference, and invariably honoured them with approval. After breakfast
he asked Violante to play or sing; and when she frankly owned how little
she had cultivated those accomplishments, he persuaded Helen to sit down
to the piano, and stood by her side while she did so, turning over the
leaves of her music-book with the ready devotion of an admiring amateur.
Helen always played well, but less well than usual that day, for her
generous nature felt abashed. It was as if she were showing off to
mortify Violante. But Violante,