constant friend," said he, and he drew her gently to a seat beside him,
in the recess of a window. With a quick glance of his eye towards the
countess, he seemed to imply the wish to converse with Helen somewhat
apart. So the countess interpreted the glance; and though she remained
in the room, she seated herself at a distance, and bent over a book.

It was touching to see how the austere man of business lent himself
to draw forth the mind of this quiet, shrinking girl; and if you had
listened, you would have comprehended how he came to possess such social
influence, and how well, some time or other in the course of his life, he
had learned to adapt himself to women.

He spoke first of Harley L'Estrange,--spoke with tact and delicacy.
Helen at first answered by monosyllables, and then, by degrees, with
grateful and open affection. Audley's brow grew shaded. He then spoke
of Italy; and though no man had less of the poet in his nature, yet with
the dexterity of one long versed in the world, and who had been
accustomed to extract evidences from characters most opposed to his own,
he suggested such topics as might serve to arouse poetry in others.
Helen's replies betrayed a cultivated taste, and a charming womanly mind;
but they betrayed, also, one accustomed to take its colourings from
another's,--to appreciate, admire, revere the Lofty and the Beautiful,
but humbly and meekly. There was no vivid enthusiasm, no remark of
striking originality, no flash of the self-kindling, creative faculty.
Lastly, Egerton turned to England,--to the critical nature of the times,
to the claims which the country possessed upon all who had the ability to
serve and guide its troubled destinies. He enlarged warmly on Harley's
natural talents, and rejoiced that he had returned to England, perhaps to
commence some great career. Helen looked surprised, but her face caught
no correspondent glow from Audley's eloquence. He rose, and an