Here Mr. Edmonstone called from the window that they must come in.

Mrs. Edmonstone thought deeply that night. She had not forgotten her
notion that Eveleen was attracted by Guy's manners, and had been curious
to see what would happen when Eveleen was sent to Hollywell for country
air.

She had a very good opinion of Lady Eveleen. Since the former visit,
she had shown more spirit of improvement, and laid aside many little
follies; she had put herself under Laura's guidance, and tamed down into
what gave the promise of a sensible woman, more than anything that had
hitherto been observed in her; and little addicted to match-making as
Mrs. Edmonstone was, she could not help thinking that Eva was almost
worthy of her dear Guy (she never could expect to find anyone she should
think quite worthy of him, he was too like one of her own children for
that), and on the other hand, how delighted Lord and Lady Kilcoran would
be. It was a very pretty castle in the air; but in the midst of it, the
notion suddenly darted into Mrs. Edmonstone's head, that while she was
thinking of it, it was Amy, not Eveleen, who was constantly with Guy.
Reading and music, roses, botany, and walks on the terrace! She looked
back, and it was still the same. Last Easter vacation, how they used
to study the stars in the evening, to linger in the greenhouse in
the morning nursing the geraniums, and to practise singing over the
school-room piano; how, in a long walk, they always paired together; and
how they seemed to share every pursuit or pleasure.

Now Mrs. Edmonstone was extremely fond of Guy, and trusted him entirely;
but she thought she ought to consider how far this should be allowed.
Feeling that he ought to see more of the world, she had sent him as
much as she could into society, but it had only made him cling closer to
home. Still he was but twenty, it was only a country neighbourhood, and
there was much more for him to see before he could fairly be supposed
to know his own mind. She knew he would act honourably; but she had a
horror of letting him entangle himself with her daughter before he was
fairly able to judge of his own feelings. Or, if this was only behaving
with a brother's freedom and confidence, Mrs. Edmonstone felt it was not
safe for her poor little Amy, who might learn so to depend on him as
to miss him grievously when this intimacy ceased, as it must when he
settled at his own home. It would be right, while it was still time, to