e between her and Lilian that, while it
allowed them companionship, gave Lilian, together with the fact of her
engagement to John, a glorious dignity in Helen's eyes that she would
not have her abate a jot. Her gowns, her shawls, her simple laces and
few jewels seemed the appanage of a superior state of existence; they
brought close to her the possibilities of that charmed time when she
too would be a woman grown. She could not tire of gazing at the blush
flitting over Lilian's face as she spoke, at the way her steady eyelid
slanted toward her cheek as she read: the sound of her voice had an
intimate music that acted like a charm; and when this wonderful being
entertained her in her well hours and cosseted her in her ill ones,
listened to her, waited on her and caressed her, Helen rewarded her by
worshiping her. It was Lilian who constantly procured Helen pleasures,
who shielded her little faults, who sympathized with her joys and her
griefs and her sentimentalities, making merry with her to-day, crying
with her to-morrow, and who shone upon her with unvarying sunshine; it
was Lilian who did all this in another way for John; it was Lilian who
made every one's happiness that came near her; and Helen's affection
for her became something romantic and ideal. As for her brother John,
Helen had always held him in a place apart: she loved him far better
than she loved her strict, stern father; he was a portion of herself;
her universe revolved around him; she had never formed a fancy of what
life and the world would be without him; and much as she worshiped
Lilian, she had more than once doubted if she were altogether worthy
of John--not because she was Lilian, but because he was John. She used
to watch Lilian sometimes when John's friends came in in the
evening--used to watch her and admire her flushing face, her perfect
toilette, her gracious manner; but used to wonder if all betrothed
women treated their lovers' friends so exactly as they did their
lovers, with that same unchanging courtesy and gentle sweetness. Once
she saw the manner vary: it was while she herself was singing to them
all, facing down the room, and John held his pawn suspended in the
crisis of a game of chess, while Mr. Reyburn walked familiarly up and
down, now turning the music for her, now bending with a word in
Lilian's ear, now joining in the burden of the song:

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee sti