This prudent lady having cast about in her mind all that was proper to be done, in order to accomplish the good work she laboured for, and had so much at heart, would not leave it in the power of chance to disappoint what she had so happily begun; and having prevailed over the ill-nature and sourness of the husband, thought it equally necessary to prevent the resentment, or inadvertency, of the wife from frustrating her endeavours.
On being told that Mrs. Munden was come, she ran down stairs to receive her, led her into a parlour, and informed her, as briefly as she could, all that part which she thought would be most satisfactory to her, of the conversation which had passed between them and Mr. Munden on her score.
Finding what she said was received by the other more coolly than she wished, she took that privilege which her rank, her age, and the friendship she had always shewn to her, might justly claim, to remonstrate to her, that it did not become her situation and character to stand too much upon punctilios at this time; when all that either was, or ought to be, dear to womankind, depended on a speedy accommodation with her husband: 'The unhappy brulée,' said she, 'has lasted too long—your servants must certainly know it—you cannot be assured of their secrecy—the whole affair, perhaps, with large additions to it, will soon become the talk of the town—every one will be descanting upon it; and how much soever Mr. Munden may be in fault, you cannot hope to escape your share in the censure.'
Poor Mrs. Munden, who looked upon this lady as a second mother, would not attempt to offer any thing in opposition to the arguments she used; and, besides, could not forbear avowing, within herself, the justice of them. 'Well, Madam,' answered she, with a deep sigh, 'I shall endeavour to follow your ladyship's advice; and, since I am a wife, will do my best to make the yoke I have submitted to, sit as lightly upon me as possible.'
Lady Trusty perceiving her spirits were very much depressed, omitted nothing, that the shortness of time would allow, to persuade her to believe, that her condition was not so unhappy, in reality, as she at present imagined it to be; and having brought her to somewhat of a more chearful temper, conducted her into the room where Sir Ralph and Mr. Munden were still discoursing on the matter in question.
'Welcome, my fair charge,' cried the former, taking her by the hand, and drawing her towards Mr. Munden; 'I have once already had the honour of giving you to this gentleman—permit me to do so a second time; I hope with the same satisfaction, on both sides, as at first.'
'On mine, by Heaven, it is!' replied Mr. Munden, flying hastily to embrace her, as she moved slowly forward; 'if my dearest Betsy will promise to forget what is past, the pains I have suffered, during this interruption of my happiness, will be a sufficient security for her, that I shall be very careful for the future to avoid doing any thing that may again subject me to the like misfortune.'
These words, and the tender air which he assumed in speaking them, were so much beyond what Mrs. Munden could have expected from him, after his late treatment of her, that all her pride, her anger, and even her indifference, subsided at that instant, and gave place to sentiments of the most gentle nature.
'You must believe,' answered she, with an infinity of sweetness in her voice and eyes, 'that I have also had my share of anguish: but whatever inquietudes you have sustained on my account must be forgotten on your part, as it shall be mine to make atonement for them by every thing in my power, which can flatter me with the hopes of doing so.'