“As my guardian, I certainly did obey him; and I could obey him as a husband; but as a lover, I will not.”
“Yet that is the way never to have him for a husband.”
“As he pleases—for if he will not submit to be my lover, I will not submit to be his wife—nor has he the affection that I require in a husband.”
Thus the old sentiments, repeated again and again, prevented a separation till towards morning.
Miss Milner, for that night, dreamed less of her guardian than of the masquerade. On the evening of the next day it was to be—she was up early, breakfasted in her dressing room, and remained there most of the day, busied in a thousand preparations for the night; one of them was, to take every particle of powder out of her hair, and have it curled all over in falling ringlets. Her next care was, that her dress should exactly fit, and display her fine person to the best advantage—it did so. Miss Woodley entered as it was trying on, and was all astonishment at the elegance of the habit, and its beautiful effect upon her graceful person; but, most of all, she was astonished at her venturing on such a character—for though it represented the goddess of Chastity, yet from the buskins, and the petticoat festooned far above the ankle, it had, on a first glance, the appearance of a female much less virtuous. Miss Woodley admired this dress, yet objected to it; but as she admired first, her objections after had no weight.
“Where is Lord Elmwood?” said Miss Milner—“he must not see me.”
“No, for heaven’s sake,” cried Miss Woodley, “I would not have him see you in such a disguise for the universe.”
“And yet,” returned the other, with a sigh, “why am I then thus pleased with my dress? for I had rather he should admire me than all the world besides, and yet he is not to see me in it.”
“But he would not admire you so dressed,” said Miss Woodley.
“How shall I contrive to avoid him,” said Miss Milner, “if in the evening he should offer to hand me into my carriage? But I believe he will not be in good humour enough for that.”