This was Friday.
Sandford and he both replied at the same time, “Yes.” And Sandford, but not Lord Elmwood, looked at Miss Milner when he spoke. Her knife and fork gave a sudden spring in her hand, but no other emotion witnessed what she felt.
“Aye, Elmwood,” cried another gentleman at table, “you’ll bring home, I am afraid, a foreign wife, and that I shan’t forgive.”
“It is his errand abroad, I make no doubt,” said another visitor.
Before he could return an answer, Sandford cried, “And what objection to a foreigner for a wife? do not crowned heads all marry foreigners? and who happier in the married state than some kings?”
Lord Elmwood directed his eyes to the side of the table, opposite to that where Miss Milner sat.
“Nay,” (answered one of the guests, who was a country gentleman) “what do you say, ladies—do you think my Lord ought to go out of his own nation for a wife?” and he looked at Miss Milner for the reply.
Miss Woodley, uneasy at her friend’s being thus forced to give an opinion upon so delicate a subject, endeavoured to satisfy the gentleman, by answering to the question herself: “Whoever my Lord Elmwood marries, Sir,” said Miss Woodley, “he, no doubt, will be happy.”
“But what say you, Madam?” asked the visitor, still keeping his eyes on Miss Milner.
“That whoever Lord Elmwood marries, he deserves to be happy:” returned she, with the utmost command of her voice and looks; for Miss Woodley, by replying first, had given her time to collect herself.