“No,” answered she, struggling with all her feelings for composure; “what we wish is easily excused; and I am glad to see you to-night, because otherwise—”
She hesitated; and Delvile, little imagining why, thanked her in the warmest terms for her condescension. He then related how he had been tormented by Morrice, enquired why Mr Monckton had not accompanied her, and what could possibly have induced her to make her journey so late, or, with so large a party, to be walking upon the high road instead of hastening to London.
“I wonder not,” answered she, more steadily, “at your surprise, though I have now no time to lessen it. You have never, I find, received my letter?”
“No,” cried he, much struck by her manner; “was it to forbid our meeting till to-morrow?”
“To-morrow!” she repeated expressively, “no; it was to forbid—”
Here the door was suddenly opened, and Morrice burst into the room.
The dismay and astonishment of Delvile at sight of him could only be equalled by the confusion and consternation of Cecilia; but Morrice, perceiving neither, abruptly called out “Miss Beverley, I quite beg your pardon for coming so late, but you must know”—then stopping short upon seeing Delvile, “Good lord,” he exclaimed, “if here is not our gentleman spy! Why, Sir, you have not spared the spur! I left you galloping off quite another way.”
“However that may be Sir,” cried Delvile, equally enraged at the interruption and the observation, “you did not, I presume, wait upon Miss Beverley to talk of me?”
“No, Sir,” answered he, lightly, “for I had told her all about you at the inn. Did not I, Miss Beverley? Did not I tell you I was sure it was Mr Delvile that was dodging us about so? Though I believe, Sir, you thought I had not found you out?”
“And pray, young man,” said Mrs Charlton, much offended by this familiar intrusion, “how did you find us out?”