she had now, by colouring, done the very thing to fix Lady Davenant's
attention, and as the look was prolonged, she coloured more and more.

"I see I was wrong," said Lady Davenant; "I had thought Colonel D'Aubigny's
ecstasy about that miniature of you was only a feint; but I see he really
was an admirer of yours, Helen?"

"Of mine! oh no, never!" Still from her fear of saying something that
should implicate Cecilia, her tone, though she spoke exactly the truth,
was not to Lady Davenant's discriminative ear quite natural--Helen seeing
doubt, added,

"Impossible, my dear Lady Davenant! you know I was then so young, quite a
child!"

"No, no, not quite; two from eighteen and sixteen remain, I think, and in
our days sixteen is not absolutely a child."

Helen made no answer; her thoughts had gone back to the time when Colonel
D'Aubigny was first introduced to her, which was just before her uncle's
illness, and when her mind had been so engrossed by him, that she had but a
confused recollection of all the rest.

"Now you are right, my dear," said Lady Davenant; "right to be absolutely
silent. In difficult cases say nothing; but still you are wrong in sitting
so uneasily under it, for that seems as if there _was_ something."

"Nothing upon earth!" cried Helen, "if you would not look at me _so_, my
clear Lady Davenant."