Her hand fell motionless from that which she held—she appeared motionless herself—till Mrs. Horton, “Beseeching her not to be uneasy at the treatment she had received,” made her tears flow as if her heart was breaking.
Miss Woodley would have said something to comfort her, but she had caught the infection, and could not utter a word. It was not from any real cause of grief that she wept; but there was a magnetic quality in tears, which always attracted hers.
Mrs. Horton secretly enjoyed this scene, though the real well meaning of her heart, and ease of her conscience, did not suffer her to think so. She, however, declared she had “long prognosticated it would come to this;” and she “only thanked heaven it was no worse.”
“What could be worse, Madam?” cried Miss Milner; “am not I disappointed of the ball?”
“You don’t mean to go then?” said Mrs. Horton; “I commend your prudence; and I dare say it is more than your guardian gives you credit for.”
“Do you think I would go,” answered Miss Milner, with an eagerness that for a time suppressed her tears, “in contradiction to his will?”
“It is not the first time, I believe, you have acted contrary to that, Miss Milner,” replied Mrs. Horton, and affected a tenderness of voice, to soften the harshness of her words.
“If you think so, Madam, I see nothing that should prevent me now.” And she flung out of the room as if she had resolved to disobey him. This alarmed poor Miss Woodley.
“My dear aunt,” she cried to Mrs. Horton, “follow and prevail upon Miss Milner to give up her design; she means to be at the ball in opposition to her guardian’s will.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Horton, “I’ll not be instrumental in detering her—if she does it may be for the best; it may give Mr. Dorriforth a clearer knowledge what means are proper to convert her from evil.”