“I knew not, however,” he continued, “at the time I was induced to give my consent, with whom I was to be associated; nor could I have imagined the Dean so little conversant with the distinctions of the world, as to disgrace me with inferior coadjutors: but the moment I learnt the state of the affair, I insisted upon withdrawing both my name and countenance.”
Here again he paused; not in expectation of an answer from Cecilia, but merely to give her time to marvel in what manner he had at last been melted.
“The Dean,” he resumed, “was then very ill; my displeasure, I believe, hurt him. I was sorry for it; he was a worthy man, and had not meant to offend me; in the end, I accepted his apology, and was even persuaded to accept the office. You have a right, therefore, to consider yourself as personally my ward, and though I do not think proper to mix much with your other guardians, I shall always be ready to serve and advise you, and much pleased to see you.”
“You do me honour, sir,” said Cecilia, extremely wearied of such graciousness, and rising to be gone.
“Pray sit still,” said he, with a smile; “I have not many engagements for this morning. You must give me some account how you pass your time. Are you much out? The Harrels, I am told, live at a great expense. What is their establishment?”
“I don't exactly know, sir.”
“They are decent sort of people, I believe; are they not?”
“I hope so, sir!”
“And they have a tolerable acquaintance, I believe: I am told so; for I know nothing of them.”
“They have, at least, a very numerous one, sir.”