“She shall return with you,” cried Mr Harrel, “if you desire it; you shall return together.”
Mrs Harrel, starting up in rapture, called out “Oh Mr Harrel, will you indeed leave me in England?”
“Yes,” answered he reproachfully, “if you will make a better friend than you have made a wife, and if Miss Beverley is content to take charge of you.”
“What can all this mean?” exclaimed Cecilia, “is it possible you can be serious? Are you really going yourself, and will you suffer Mrs Harrel to remain?”
“I am,” he answered, “and I will.”
Then ringing the bell, he ordered a hackney coach.
Mrs Harrel was scarce able to breathe for extacy, nor Cecilia for amazement; while Mr Harrel, attending to neither of them, walked for some time silently about the room.
“But how,” cried Cecilia at last, “can I possibly go? Mrs Delvile must already be astonished at my delay, and if I disappoint her again she will hardly receive me.”
“O make not any difficulties,” cried Mrs Harrel in an agony; “if Mr Harrel will let me stay, sure you will not be so cruel as to oppose him?”
“But why,” said Cecilia, “should either of us go to Vauxhall? surely that is no place for a parting so melancholy.”