“Is it possible, my Lord, Mr. Macartney can give you the least uneasiness?”
“My dearest Miss Anville,” said he, taking my hand, “I see, and I adore the purity of your mind, superior as it is to all little arts, and all apprehensions of suspicion; and I should do myself, as well as you, injustice, if I were capable of harbouring the smallest doubts of that goodness which makes you mine forever: nevertheless, pardon me, if I own myself surprised,-nay, alarmed, at these frequent meetings with so young a man as Mr. Macartney.”
“My Lord,” cried I, eager to clear myself, “Mr. Macartney is my brother.”
“Your brother! you amaze me!-What strange mystery, then, makes his relationship a secret?”
Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the door. “O, you are here!” cried she: “Pray, is my Lord so kind as to assist you in preparing for your journey, or in retarding it?”
“I should be most happy,” said Lord Orville, smiling, “if it were in my power to do the latter.”
I then acquainted her with Mr. Macartney’s communication.
She immediately ordered the chaise away: and then took me into her own room, to consider what should be done.
A few minutes sufficed to determine her; and she wrote the following note.
“To Sir John Belmont, Bart.”