like her at first; she was so kind, and seemed to
take such an interest in me. But she said such strange things--asked if
I was reckoned like my mother, and which of us was the eldest, my sister
or myself, and whether we were my father's only two children, and if one
of us was more his favorite than the other. What I could tell her, I did
tell. But when I said I didn't know which of us was the oldest, she gave
me an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, 'I don't believe you, child,'
and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don't mention it to any
one else; I hope I shall never see her again."

"I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. I entirely
agree with you."

"You agree with me in disliking her?"

"Heartily."

We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance were waiting
for us. We joined them at once.

If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced Mrs.
Tenbruggen to leave London, all further uncertainty on my part was at an
end. She had some vile interest of her own to serve by identifying Mr.
Gracedieu's adopted child--but what the nature of that interest might
be, it was impossible to guess. The future, when I thought of it now,
filled me with dismay. A more utterly helpless position than mine it
was not easy to conceive. To warn the Minister, in his present critical
state of health, was simply impossible. My relations with Helena forbade
me even to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less than a
mere tool in the hands of her well-beloved friend. What, in God's name,
was I to do?

At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us
welcome.

Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the typical
British farmer. He was neither big nor burly; he spoke English as well
as I did; and there was nothing in his dress which would have made him a
fit subject for a picture of rustic life. When he spoke, he was able to
talk on subjects unconnected with agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear
him grumble about the weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that
his wife was proud of him, and that he was, what all fathers ought to
be, his children's best and dearest friend. Why do I dwell on these
details, relating to a man whom I was not destined to see again? Only
because I had reason to feel grateful to him. When my spirits were
depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy about Eunice, as long as she
remained in his house.