Mr. Sandford finding his friend Dorriforth frequently perplexed in the
management of his ward, and he himself thinking her incorrigible, gave
his counsel, that a suitable match should be immediately sought out for
her, and the care of so dangerous a person given into other hands.
Dorriforth acknowledged the propriety of this advice, but lamented the
difficulty of pleasing his ward as to the quality of her lover; for she
had refused, besides Sir Edward Ashton, many others of equal
pretensions. “Depend upon it then,” cried Sandford, “that her
affections are engaged; and it is proper that you should know to whom.”
Dorriforth thought he did know, and mentioned Lord Frederick; but said
that he had no farther authority for the supposition than what his
observation had given him, for that every explanation both upon his and
her side had been evaded. “Take her then,” cried Sandford, “into the
country, and if Lord Frederick should not follow, there is an end of
your suspicions.”
“I shall not easily prevail upon Miss Milner to leave town,” replied
he, “while it is in the highest fashion.”
“You can but try,” returned Sandford; “and if you should not succeed
now, at least fix the time you mean to go during the autumn, and be
firm to your determination.”
“But in the autumn,” replied Dorriforth, “Lord Frederick will of course
be in the country; and as his uncle’s estate is near our residence, he
will not then so evidently follow her, as he would if I could induce
her to go now.”
It was agreed the attempt should be made. Instead of receiving this
abrupt proposal with uneasiness, Miss Milner, to the surprise of all
present, immediately consented; and gave her guardian an opportunity of
saying several of the kindest and politest things upon her ready
compliance.
“A token of approbation from you, Mr. Dorriforth,” returned she, “I
always considered with high estimation—but your commendations are now
become infinitely superior in value by their scarcity; for I do not
believe that since Miss Fenton and Mr. Sandford came to town, I have
received one testimony of your esteem.”
Had these words been uttered with pleasantry, they might have passed
without observation; but at the conclusion of the period, resentment
flew to Miss Milner’s face, and she darted a piercing look at Mr.
Sandford, which more pointedly expressed that she was angry with him,
than if she had spoken volumes in her usual strain of raillery.
Dorriforth was confused—but the concern which she had so plainly
evinced for his good opinion throughout all that she had been saying,
silenced any rebuke he might else have given her, for this
unwarrantable charge against his friend. Mrs. Horton was shocked at the
irreverent manner in which Mr. Sandford was treated—and Miss Woodley
turned to him with a benevolent smile upon her face, hoping to set him
an example of the manner in which he should receive the reproach. Her
good wishes did not succeed—yet he was perfectly unruffled, and replied
with coolness,
“The air of the country has affected the lady already—but it is a
comfortable thing,” continued he, “that in the variety of humours to
which some women are exposed, they cannot be uniform even in deceit.”
“Deceit!” cried Miss Milner, “in what am I deceitful? did I ever
pretend that I had an esteem for you?”
“That would not have been deceit, Madam, but merely good manners.”
“I never, Mr. Sandford, sacrificed truth to politeness.”
“Except when the country has been proposed, and you thought it
politeness to appear satisfied.”
“And I _was_ satisfied, till I recollected that you might probably be
of the party—then, every grove was changed into a wilderness, every
rivulet into a stagnated pool, and every singing bird into a croaking
raven.”
“A very poetical description,” returned he calmly. “But, Miss Milner,
you need not have had any apprehensions of _my_ company in the country,
for I understand the seat to which your guardian means to go, belongs
to you; and you may depend upon it, Madam, that I shall never enter a
house in which you are the mistress.”
“Nor any house, I am certain, Mr. Sandford, but in which you are
yourself the master.”
“What do you mean, Madam? (and for the first time he elevated his
voice,) am I the master here?”
“Your servants,” replied she, looking at the company, “will not tell
you so; but I do.”
“You condescend, Mr. Sandford,” cried Mrs. Horton, “in talking so much
to a young heedless woman; but I know you do it for her good.”
“Well, Miss Milner,” cried Dorriforth, (and the most cutting thing he
could say,) “since I find my proposal of the country has put you out of
humour, I shall mention it no more.”
With all that quantity of resentment, anger, or rage, which sometimes
boiled in the veins of Miss Milner, she was yet never wanting in that
respect towards her guardian, which with-held her from ever uttering
one angry sentence, directed immediately to him; and a severe word of
his, instead of exasperating, was sure to subdue her. This was the case
at present—his words wounded her to the heart, but she had not the
asperity to reply to them as she thought they merited, and she burst
into tears. Dorriforth, instead of being concerned, as he usually was
at seeing her uneasy, appeared on the present occasion provoked. He
thought her weeping was a new reproach to his friend Mr. Sandford, and
that to suffer himself to be moved by it, would be a tacit condemnation
of his friend’s conduct. She understood his thoughts, and getting the
better of her tears, apologised for her weakness; adding,
“She could never bear with indifference an unjust accusation.”
“To prove that mine was unjust, Madam,” replied Dorriforth; “be
prepared to quit London, without any marks of regret, in a few days.”
She bowed assent; the necessary preparations were agreed upon; and
while with apparent satisfaction she adjusted the plan of her journey,
(like those who behave well, not so much to please themselves as to vex
their enemies,) she secretly triumphed in the mortification she hoped
that Mr. Sandford would receive from her obedient behaviour.
The news of this intended journey was of course soon made public. There
is a secret charm in being pitied, when the misfortune is but ideal;
and Miss Milner found infinite gratification in being told, “That her’s
was a cruel case, and that it was unjust and barbarous to force so much
beauty into concealment while London was filled with her admirers; who,
like her, would languish in consequence of her solitude.” These things,
and a thousand such, a thousand times repeated, she still listened to
with pleasure; yet preserved the constancy not to shrink from her
resolution of submitting.
Those involuntary sighs, however, that Miss Woodley had long ago
observed, became still more frequent; and a tear half starting in her
eye was an additional subject of her friend’s observation. Yet though
Miss Milner at those times was softened into melancholy, she by no
means appeared unhappy. Her friend was acquainted with love only by
name; yet she was confirmed from these increased symptoms, in what she
before only suspected, that _love_ must be the foundation of her care.
“Her senses have been captivated by the person and accomplishments of
Lord Frederick,” said Miss Woodley to herself, “but her understanding
compels her to see his faults, and reproaches her passion.—And, oh!”
cried she, “could her guardian and Mr. Sandford know of this conflict,
how much would they have to admire; how little to condemn!”
With such friendly thoughts, and with the purest intentions, Miss
Woodley did not fail to give both gentlemen reason to believe, a
contention of this nature was the actual state of Miss Milner’s mind.
Dorriforth was affected at the description, and Sandford urged more
than ever the necessity of leaving town. In a few days they departed;
Mrs. Horton, Miss Woodley, Miss Milner, and Mr. Dorriforth, accompanied
by Miss Fenton, whom Miss Milner, knowing it to be the wish of her
guardian, invited, for three months before her marriage, to her country
seat. Elmwood House, or rather Castle, the seat of Lord Elmwood, was
only a few miles distant from this residence, and he was expected to
pass great part of the summer there, with his tutor, Mr. Sandford.
In the neighbourhood was also (as it has been already said) an estate
belonging to an uncle of Lord Frederick’s, and most of the party
suspected they should soon see him on a visit there. To that
expectation they in great measure attributed Miss Milner’s visible
content.