“Well, this much I can say for you, Ernest—I have never yet seen this fear draw you one step from the narrow path.”
“I could not say as much for myself, dear brother. The world is a dangerous place.”
“Which would you call the principal temptations of Vanity Fair?” said Charles.
“Temptations to be insincere, ill-natured, and forgetful of God.”
“Oh, you have not numbered half. Think of all the extravagance, vanity, love of show, love of fashion, love of dress, love of trifles of all sorts.”
“Which do not make us happy,” added Ernest.
“Happy! no. They remind me of the beautiful enchanted money in the Eastern tale, which a man put so carefully by, and which he found, a short time after, all turned into leaves. Have you seen Clemmy on this evening of the ball, which she has been looking forward to for so long with such pleasure?”
“She is quite miserable, poor girl. I daresay that she would cry heartily, did she not know that red eyes are not becoming.”
“She has three terrible troubles, which she knows not how to bear. Firstly, she fears that Aunt Matilda may not find her way in the fog, so may never call to take us to the ball; secondly, she fears that even if we should reach Grosvenor Square, we should find the rooms empty on such a night as this, and there would be few to admire her and her new dress; and, thirdly, she is afraid that her pearl ornaments will not come in time; and this is her worst misery of all.”
“No; Clemmy has been in a fidget about them all day, starting at the sound of every bell with a cry of, ‘Oh, I hope that’s the jeweller at last?’ And since she went up to dress, Mrs. Clayton has been sent down three times at least to see if the ornaments have come; and as she has had always to return with the same unsatisfactory answer, Clemmy is doubtless by this time in a state of grief which might make her an object of pity to any beggar in the street.”
“Poor Clemmy!” murmured Ernest, with real compassion in his tone.
“You do not pity her, surely, for being unhappy at such trifles?”
“I pity her because such trifles can make her unhappy. Charles, do you know that my conscience is not quite easy about our cousin?”
“Your conscience! You have nothing to do with her folly.”