“And I believe,” said Miss Woodley, “that from his heart, he compassionates you. Now, Mr. Sandford,” continued she, “though this is the first time I ever heard you speak in his favour, (and I once thought as indifferently of Mr. Rushbrook as you can do) yet now I will venture to ask you, whether you do not think he wishes Lady Matilda much happier than she is?”
“I have heard him say so,” answered Sandford.
“It is a subject,” returned Lady Matilda, “which I did not imagine you, Mr. Sandford, would have permitted him to have mentioned lightly, in your presence.”
“Lightly! Do you suppose, my dear, we turned your situation into ridicule?”
“No, Sir,—but there is a sort of humiliation in the grief to which I am doomed, that ought surely to be treated with the highest degree of delicacy by my friends.”
“I don’t know on what point you fix real delicacy; but if it consists in sorrow, the young man gives a proof he possesses it, for he shed tears when I last heard him mention your name.”
“I have more cause to weep at the mention of his.”
“Perhaps so.—But let me tell you, Lady Matilda, that your father might have preferred a more unworthy object.”
“Still had he been to me,” she cried, “an object of envy. And as I frankly confess my envy of Mr. Rushbrook, I hope you will pardon my malice, which is, you know, but a consequent crime.”
The subject now turned again upon Lord Margrave; and all of them being firmly persuaded, this last reception would put an end to every further intrusion from him, they treated his pretensions, and himself, with the contempt they inspired—but not with the caution that was requisite.