Just then Mrs. Hillgrave was announced. “And here is Mrs. Hillgrave,” continued she—“I believe, Mrs. Hillgrave, you know Miss Milner, don’t you? The young lady who has lately lost her father.”
Mrs. Hillgrave was the wife of a merchant who had met with severe losses: as soon as the name of Miss Milner was uttered, she lifted up her hands, and the tears started in her eyes.
“There!” cried Lady Evans, “I desire you will give your opinion of her, and I am sorry I cannot stay to hear it.” Saying this, she curtsied and took her leave.
When Mrs. Hillgrave had been seated a few minutes, Mrs. Horton, who loved information equally with the most inquisitive of her sex, asked the new visitor—“If she might be permitted to know, why, at the mention of Miss Milner, she had seemed so much affected?”
This question exciting the fears of Dorriforth, he turned anxiously round, attentive to the reply.
“Miss Milner,” answered she, “has been my benefactress and the best I ever had.” As she spoke, she took out her handkerchief and wiped away the tears that ran down her face.
“How so?” cried Dorriforth eagerly, with his own eyes moistened with joy, nearly as much as her’s were with gratitude.
“My husband, at the commencement of his distresses,” replied Mrs. Hillgrave, “owed a sum of money to her father, and from repeated provocations, Mr. Milner was determined to seize upon all our effects—his daughter, however, by her intercessions, procured us time, in order to discharge the debt; and when she found that time was insufficient, and her father no longer to be dissuaded from his intention, she secretly sold some of her most valuable ornaments to satisfy his demand, and screen us from its consequences.”
Dorriforth, pleased at this recital, took Mrs. Hillgrave by the hand, and told her, “she should never want a friend.”
“Is Miss Milner tall, or short?” again asked Mrs. Horton, fearing, from the sudden pause which had ensued, the subject should be dropped.