"Here, Mary, take the cloak from me. My own own darling, darling,
darling jewel. You are not false to me. Everybody else is false;
everybody else is cruel. Mamma will care for nobody, nobody, nobody,
but her own, own, own little man;" and she again kissed and pressed
the baby and cried till the tears ran down over the child's face.

"Who has been cruel to you, Eleanor?" said Mary. "I hope I have
not."

Now in this matter Eleanor had great cause for mental uneasiness.
She could not certainly accuse her loving sister-in-law of cruelty;
but she had to do that which was more galling: she had to accuse
herself of imprudence against which her sister-in-law had warned
her. Miss Bold had never encouraged Eleanor's acquaintance with Mr.
Slope, and she had positively discouraged the friendship of the
Stanhopes, as far as her usual gentle mode of speaking had permitted.
Eleanor had only laughed at her, however, when she said that she
disapproved of married women who lived apart from their husbands
and suggested that Charlotte Stanhope never went to church. Now,
however, Eleanor must either hold her tongue, which was quite
impossible, or confess herself to have been utterly wrong, which
was nearly equally so. So she staved off the evil day by more tears,
and consoled herself by inducing little Johnny to rouse himself
sufficiently to return her caresses.

"He is a darling--as true as gold. What would mamma do without him?
Mamma would lie down and die if she had not her own Johnny Bold to
give her comfort." This and much more she said of the same kind, and
for a time made no other answer to Mary's inquiries.

This kind of consolation from the world's deceit is very common.
Mothers obtain it from their children, and men from their dogs. Some
men even do so from their walking-sticks, which is just as rational.
How is it that we can take joy to ourselves in that we are not
deceived by those who have not attained the art to deceive us? In a
true man, if such can be found, or a true woman, much consolation may
indeed be taken.

In the caresses of her child, however, Eleanor did receive
consolation, and may ill befall the man who would begrudge it to
her. The evil day, however, was only postponed. She had to tell her
disagreeable tale to Mary, and she had also to tell it to her father.
Must it not, indeed, be told to the whole circle of her acquaintance
before she could be made to stand all right with them? At the
present moment