“Good heaven!” cried Cecilia, “come into the chaise, and let me speak and hear to be understood!”
“Who is that now in it?”
“My Maid.”
“Your maid?—and she waits for you thus at the door?”—
“What, what is it you mean?”
“Tell the man, madam, whither to go.”
“I don't know myself—any where you please—do you order him.”
“I order him!—you came not hither to receive orders from me!—where was it you had purposed to rest?”
“I don't know—I meant to go to Mrs Hill's—I have no place taken.”—
“No place taken!” repeated he, in a voice faultering between passion and grief; “you purposed, then, to stay here?—I have perhaps driven you away?”