‘Oh, my lord, how shall I apologize for—’
‘No more of that,’ he interrupted; ‘’tis past.’
‘My lord,’ ejaculated I, surprised.
‘Leave us, Celia;’ commanded the earl, and when the former had retired from the room, he turned to me, and the indignation of his looks seemed to increase.
‘Oh, Mansville,’ I observed, ‘how have I deserved this indifference? Is it my fault that my feelings overcame me? Is it my fault that the scene revived my sense of duty? Oh, my lord, it is those fatal feelings that have made me what I am.’
‘I am weary of this parade of sensibility,’ replied the earl, impatiently; ‘you have called up against me the laugh of my tenantry and domestics—let that content you.’
‘What does the change portend? This freezing look—this language of reproach?’ I inquired.
‘For your own sake and mine press me no farther, Clara,’ replied the earl; ‘I would not have had the scene which has just past occur for millions. If you have placed yourself in unpleasant circumstances, common policy should at least teach you to shun the sneers of the world; but it is over and nothing can now be said which will not increase, instead of diminishing our mutual uneasiness.’
A burning pang shot through my brain as Mansville gave utterance to these words, and emphatically and hysterically I exclaimed—
‘Am I deceived?’