“I dare assure you!” cried he; “hasty you may perhaps think me, and somewhat impetuous I cannot deny myself; but believe me not of so wretched a character as to be capable, in any affair of moment, of fickleness or caprice.”
“But what, Sir, is my security to the contrary? Have you not this moment avowed that but yesterday you held in abhorrence the very plan that to-day you propose? And may you not to-morrow resume again the same opinion?”
“Cruel Miss Beverley! how unjust is this inference! If yesterday I disapproved what to-day I recommend, a little recollection must surely tell you why; and that not my opinion, but my situation is changed.”
The conscious Cecilia here turned away her head; too certain he alluded to the discovery of her partiality.
“Have you not yourself,” he continued, “witnessed the steadiness of my mind? Have you not beheld me fly, when I had power to pursue, and avoid, when I had opportunity to seek you? After witnessing my constancy upon such trying occasions, is it equitable, is it right to suspect me of wavering?”
“But what,” cried she, “was the constancy which brought you into Suffolk?—When all occasion was over for our meeting any more, when you told me you were going abroad, and took leave of me for ever,—where, then, was your steadiness in this unnecessary journey?”
“Have a care,” cried he, half smiling, and taking a letter from his pocket, “have a care, upon this point, how you provoke me to spew my justification!”
“Ah!” cried Cecilia, blushing, “'tis some trick of Lady Honoria!”
“No, upon my honour. The authority is less doubtful; I believe I should hardly else have regarded it.”
Cecilia, much alarmed, held out her hand for the letter; and looking first at the end was much astonished to see the name of Biddulph. She then cast her eye over the beginning, and when she saw her own name, read the following paragraph.