"By my soul, Penelope, I forgive the pain you have caused me," said Mr. Spottiswoode, approaching her, "if I may indeed believe you repent your unkind treatment."
Miss Wycherly shrunk from his touch as her lover offered to take her hand.
"I do not repent—I regret nothing—oh, Julia! was this kind to betray me! I will never believe you could love me, and yet have done this!" She rose to fly from the room, but Mr. Spottiswoode's arm, gently wound round her waist, arrested her flight.
"Stay, Penelope, and tell me why you avoid a man who loves you, and has borne what I have done for you? Tell me why you fear to say a kind thing, when it may balance a thousand harsh ones? Why must you distress a heart which never gave you uneasiness?"
"You have made me uneasy enough with your attention to Lady Anna," replied Miss Wycherly, earnestly, yet not attempting to disengage herself.
"Do you seriously mean that, Penelope?" said Mr. Spottiswoode, looking inquiringly into her face.
"Yes, I do: your flirtation there was worse than mine with Henry Tyndal; every body knew he was not cared for, but you were abominable."
"Look me in the face, Penelope, and say that again if you dare."
Miss Wycherly did not repeat the accusation: how could she? Her lover held her to his heart, and every disquieting thought was stilled. She turned to Julia, and held out her hand.
"Julia, I will never forget that you brought about this reconciliation. I was too proud to own myself in fault, and had you not interfered, we should never have met again in harmony. I was agonised at first with anger, but it is past now; and, for Heaven's sake, don't let us quarrel again, Charles Spottiswoode!"