"Miss Wetheral, I address you as no common person; and I feel assured a young lady, who has been the companion of Sir John Wetheral, must be prudent beyond her years. Penelope has never received any reply to several letters addressed to Lady Ennismore, and I am anxious to understand the cause. Your sister is not ill, I hope?"
Christobelle was unable to answer even that simple question; she knew nothing, and had heard nothing with reference to the Ennismores.
"It is very extraordinary!" was Mr. Spottiswoode's quick reply, but nothing more was said, for they were again indefatigably engaged in dancing, till eleven o'clock, when Sir John Wetheral approached his daughter, and advised her to rest till the carriage was announced. As she seated herself, according to his wish, Christobelle heard Mrs. Pynsent speaking to Mrs. Tyndal with some vehemence.
"Upon my word, there will be a dreadful blow-up soon: I went to see Sally Hancock into the pony-carriage, and who should be in the hall but those two people abusing each other. That matchmaking woman has a thousand sins to answer for: she will pay for all this, Jane Tyndal, in the next world!"
Christobelle felt assured the Kerrisons were the party in question. Her eyes sought them, but they were not in either of the drawing-rooms. She turned to Mrs. Pynsent in terror, and inquired for Clara.
"Oh! my dear, they have killed each other by this time, as far as intentions can go. They were fighting in the hall half an hour ago."
Christobelle turned pale with distress, and Mrs. Pynsent, whose heart was as kind as her manners and address were abrupt, pitied her sufferings. She put her hand gently upon Christobelle's shoulder, and spoke with emphasis.
"_You_ can't help it, my poor girl; _you_ need not vex yourself: it will all come home to the right person, but that won't be you. Only take care you are not the next sacrifice, and sell yourself for money at people's bidding."
"Oh! Mrs. Pynsent," cried Christobelle, "Where is papa?"
"Here, come with me, young lady, and I'll take you to your father. Remember every word in your heart of hearts which _he_ utters." Mrs. Pynsent put Christobelle's arm within her own, and continued, as they quitted the room, "Some of her young ones have turned out well, in spite of her. I hope that will tell for her hereafter. Don't fret, now, and make your poor father wish himself at Old Nick: he'll want comfort at Wetheral, and you must comfort him. Here, Sir John, I've brought your good girl to you: don't let her marry in a hurry--ware sheep! There, take her into your care, and hide her for the next seven years."