They were to be some time alone before the commencement of bridal visits,
and an expected succession of troops of friends. This was a time of
peculiar enjoyment to Helen: she had leisure to grow happy in the feeling
of reviving hopes from old associations.

She did not forget her promise to write to Mrs. Collingwood; nor afterwards
(to her credit be it here marked)--even when the house was full of company,
and when, by amusement or by feeling, she was most pressed for time--did
she ever omit to write to those excellent friends. Those who best know the
difficulty will best appreciate this proof of the reality of her gratitude.

As Lady Cecilia was a great deal with her husband riding or walking, Helen
had opportunities of being much alone with Lady Davenant, who now gave her
a privilege that she had enjoyed in former times at Cecilhurst, that of
entering her apartment in the morning at all hours without fear of being
considered an intruder.

The first morning, however, on seeing her ladyship immersed in papers with
a brow of care, deeply intent, Helen paused on the threshold, "I am afraid
I interrupt--I am afraid I disturb you."

"Come in, Helen, come in," cried Lady Davenant, looking up, and the face of
care was cleared, and there was a radiance of pleasure--"Interrupt--yes:
disturb--no. Often in your little life, Helen, you have interrupted--never
disturbed me. From the time you were a child till this moment, never did I
see you come into my room without pleasure."

Then sweeping away heaps of papers, she made room for Helen on the sofa
beside her.