With this party Miss Milner arrived at her country house, and for near
six weeks, all around was the picture of tranquillity; her satisfaction
was as evident as every other person’s; and all severe admonition being
at this time unnecessary, either to exhort her to her duty, or to warn
her against her folly, she was even in perfect good humour with Miss
Fenton, and added friendship to hospitality.
Mr. Sandford, who came with Lord Elmwood to the neighbouring seat,
about a week after the arrival of Miss Milner at her’s, was so
scrupulously exact in the observance of his word, “_Never to enter a
house of Miss Milner’s,_” that he would not even call upon his friend
Dorriforth there—but in their walks, and at Lord Elmwood’s, the two
parties would occasionally join, and of course Sandford and she at
those times met—yet so distant was the reserve on either side, that not
a single word upon any occasion was ever exchanged between them.
Miss Milner did not like Mr. Sandford; yet as there was no cause of
inveterate rancour, admiring him too as a man who meant well, and being
besides of a most forgiving temper, she frequently felt concerned that
he did not speak to her, although it had been to find fault as
usual—and one morning as they were all, after a long ramble, drawing
towards her house, where Lord Elmwood was invited to dine, she could
not restrain dropping a tear at seeing Sandford turn back and wish them
a “Good day.”
But though she had the generosity to forgive an affront, she had not
the humility to make a concession; and she foresaw that nothing less
than some very humble atonement on her part would prevail upon the
haughty priest to be reconciled. Dorriforth saw her concern upon this
last trifling occasion with a secret pleasure, and an admiration that
she had never before excited. She once insinuated to him to be a
mediator between them; but before any accommodation could take place,
the peace and composure of their abode were disturbed by the arrival of
Sir Edward Ashton at Lord Elmwood’s, where it appeared as if he had
been invited in order to pursue his matrimonial plan.
At a dinner given by Lord Elmwood, Sir Edward was announced as an
unexpected visitor; Miss Milner did not suppose him such, and she
turned pale when his name was uttered. Dorriforth fixed his eyes upon
her with some tokens of compassion, while Sandford seemed to exult, and
by his repeated “Welcomes” to the Baronet, gave proofs how much he was
rejoiced to see him. All the declining enmity of Miss Milner was
renewed at this behaviour, and suspecting Sandford as the instigator of
the visit, she could not overcome her displeasure, but gave way to it
in a manner she thought the most mortifying. Sir Edward, in the course
of conversation, enquired “What neighbours were in the country;” and
she, with an appearance of high satisfaction, named Lord Frederick
Lawnly as being hourly expected at his uncle’s. The colour spread over
Sir Edward’s face—Dorriforth was confounded—and Mr. Sandford looked
enraged.
“Did Lord Frederick tell _you_ he should be down?” Sandford asked of
Dorriforth.
To which he replied, “No.”
“But I hope, Mr. Sandford, you will permit _me_ to know?” said Miss
Milner. For as she now meant to torment him by what she said, she no
longer constrained herself to silence—and as he harboured the same kind
intention towards her, he had no longer any objection to make a reply,
and therefore answered,
“No, madam, if it depended upon my permission, you should _not_ know.”
“Not _any thing_, Sir, I dare say; you would keep me in utter
ignorance.”
“I would.”
“From a self-interested motive, Mr. Sandford—that I might have a
greater respect for you.”
Some of the company laughed—Mrs. Horton coughed—Miss Woodley
blushed—Lord Elmwood sneered—Dorriforth frowned—and Miss Fenton looked
just as she did before.
The conversation was changed as soon as possible, and early in the
evening the party from Milner Lodge returned home.
Miss Milner had scarce left her dressing room, where she had been
taking off some part of her dress, when Dorriforth’s servant came to
acquaint her that his master was alone in his study, and begged to
speak with her. She felt herself tremble—she immediately experienced a
consciousness that she had not acted properly at Lord Elmwood’s; for
she felt a presentiment that her guardian was going to upbraid her, and
her heart whispered that he had never yet reproached her without a
cause.
Miss Woodley just then entered her apartment, and she found herself so
much a coward, as to propose that she should go with her, and aid her
with a word or two occasionally in her excuse.
“What you, my dear,” returned Miss Woodley, “who not three hours ago
had the courage to vindicate your own cause before a whole company, of
whom many were your adversaries; do _you_ want an advocate before your
guardian alone, who has ever treated you with tenderness?”
“It is that very tenderness which frightens me; which intimidates, and
strikes me dumb. Is it possible I can return impertinence to the
language and manners which Mr. Dorriforth uses? and as I am debarred
from that resource, what can I do but stand before him like a guilty
creature, acknowledging my faults.”
She again entreated her friend to go with her; but on a positive
refusal, from the impropriety of such an intrusion, she was obliged at
length to go by herself.
How much does the difference of exterior circumstances influence not
only the manners, but even the persons of some people! Miss Milner in
Lord Elmwood’s drawing room, surrounded by listeners, by admirers, (for
even her enemies could not look at her without admiration) animated
with approbation and applause—and Miss Milner, with no giddy observer
to give her actions a false éclat, destitute of all but her own
understanding, (which secretly condemns her) upon the point of
receiving censure from her guardian and friend, are two different
beings. Though still beautiful beyond description, she does not look
even in person the same. In the last-mentioned situation, she was
shorter in stature than in the former—she was paler—she was thinner—and
a very different contour presided over her whole air, and all her
features.
When she arrived at the door of the study, she opened it with a
trepidation she could hardly account for, and entered to Dorriforth the
altered woman she has been represented. His heart had taken the most
decided part against her, and his face had assumed the most severe
aspect of reproach; but her appearance gave an instantaneous change to
his whole mind, and countenance.
She halted, as if she feared to approach—he hesitated, as if he knew
not how to speak. Instead of the anger with which he was prepared to
begin, his voice involuntarily softened, and without knowing what he
said, he began,
“My dear Miss Milner.”—
She expected he was angry, and in her confusion his gentleness was lost
upon her. She imagined that what he said might be censure, and she
continued to tremble, though he repeatedly assured her, that he meant
only to advise, not upbraid her.
“For as to all those little disputes between Mr. Sandford and you,”
said he, “I should be partial if I blamed you more than him—indeed,
when you take the liberty to condemn him, his character makes the
freedom appear in a more serious light than when he complains of
you—and yet, if he provokes your retorts, he alone must answer for
them; nor will I undertake to decide betwixt you. But I have a question
to ask you, and to which I require a serious and unequivocal answer. Do
you expect Lord Frederick in the country?”
Without hesitation she replied, “I do.”
“One more question I have to ask, madam, and to which I expect a reply
equally unreserved. Is Lord Frederick the man you approve for your
husband?”
Upon this close interrogation she discovered an embarrassment, beyond
any she had ever yet betrayed, and faintly replied,
“No, he is not.”
“Your words tell me one thing,” answered Dorriforth, “but your looks
declare another—which am I to believe?”
“Which you please,” was her answer, while she discovered an insulted
dignity, that astonished, without convincing him.
“But then why encourage him to follow you hither, Miss Milner?”
“Why commit a thousand follies (she replied in tears) every hour of my
life?”
“You then promote the hopes of Lord Frederick without one serious
intention of completing them? This is a conduct against which it is my
duty to guard you, and you shall no longer deceive either him or
yourself. The moment he arrives, it is my resolution that you refuse to
see him, or consent to become his wife.”
In answer to the alternative thus offered, she appeared averse to both
propositions; and yet came to no explanation why; but left her guardian
at the end of the conference as much at a loss to decide upon her true
sentiments, as he was before he had thus seriously requested he might
be informed of them; but having stedfastly taken the resolution which
he had just communicated, he found that resolution a certain relief to
his mind.