desire,--she would never be the cause of any disagreement--poor, dear, kind
Cecilia! She would write directly to Mrs. Collingwood." At the close of
these last incoherent sentences, Helen was awe-struck by the absolute
composed immovability and silence of Lady Davenant. Helen stood rebuked
before her.

"Instead of writing to Mrs. Collingwood, had not you better go at once?"
said her ladyship, speaking in a voice so calm, and in a tone so slightly
ironical, that it might have passed for earnest on any but an acutely
feeling ear--"Shall I ring, and order your carriage?" putting her hand on
the bell as she spoke, and resting it there, she continued--"It would be so
spirited to be off instantly; so wise, so polite, so considerate towards
_dear_ Cecilia--so dignified towards the general, and so kind towards me,
who am going to a far country, Helen, and may perhaps not see you ever
again."

"Forgive me!" cried Helen; "I never could go while you were here."

"I did not know what you might think proper when you seemed to have lost
your senses."

"I have recovered them," said Helen; "I will do whatever you
please--whatever you think best."

"It must not be what I please, my dear child, nor what I think best, but
what you judge for yourself to be best; else what will become of you when
I am in Russia? It must be some higher and more stable principle of action
that must govern you. It must not be the mere wish to please this or that
friend;--the defect of your character, Helen, remember I tell you,
is this--inordinate desire to be loved, this impatience of not being