“I declare I ask pardon, ma'am,” cried Mrs Belfield, “but the interruption was no fault of mine, for the gentleman would come in; and—”
“It is no interruption, madam;” cried Belfield, “Mr Delvile does me nothing but honour.”
“I thank you, Sir!” said Delvile, trying to recover and come forward, but trembling violently, and speaking with the most frigid coldness.
They were then, for a few instants, all silent; Cecilia, amazed by his arrival, still more amazed by his behaviour, feared to speak lest he meant not, as yet, to avow his marriage, and felt a thousand apprehensions that some new calamity had hurried him home: while Belfield was both hurt by his strangeness, and embarrassed for the sake of Cecilia; and his mother, though wondering at them all, was kept quiet by her son's looks.
Delvile then, struggling for an appearance of more ease, said, “I seem to have made a general confusion here:—pray, I beg”—
“None at all, Sir,” said Belfield, and offered a chair to Cecilia.
“No, Sir,” she answered, in a voice scarce audible, “I was just going.” And again rang the bell.
“I fear I hurry you, madam?” cried Delvile, whose whole frame was now shaking with uncontrollable emotion; “you are upon business—I ought to beg your pardon—my entrance, I believe, was unseasonable.”—
“Sir!” cried she, looking aghast at this speech.
“I should have been rather surprised,” he added, “to have met you here, so late,—so unexpectedly,—so deeply engaged—had I not happened to see your servant in the street, who told me the honour I should be likely to have by coming.”