But Eleanor had little sympathy for freaks and fancies. She knew the
realities of life too well to build airy castles with younger and
gayer spirits; her sisters' romance seemed to her dangerous folly,
and their lively nonsense levity and frivolity. They were too
childish to share in her confidence, and she was too busy and too
much preoccupied to have ear or mind for visionary trifles, though to
trifles of real life she paid no small degree of attention.
It might have been otherwise had Henry Mohun lived; but in the midst
of the affection of all who knew him, honour from those who could
appreciate his noble character, and triumphs gained by his uncommon
talents, he was cut off by a short illness, when not quite nineteen,
a most grievous loss to his family, and above all, to Eleanor.
Unlike her, as he was joyous, high-spirited, full of fun, and
overflowing with imagination and poetry, there was a very close bond
of union between them, in the strong sense of duty, the firmness of
purpose, and energy of mind which both possessed, and which made
Eleanor feel perfect reliance on him, and look up to him with earnest
admiration. With him alone she was unreserved; he was the only
person who could ever make her show a spark of liveliness, and on his
death, it was only with the most painful efforts that she could
maintain her composed demeanour and fulfil her daily duties.
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