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