“Then come, Sir, let us be on an equal footing through you. And now speak out his thoughts freely, and hear mine in return.”
“Why, then, he begs a respite for a year or two.”
“On what pretence?”
“To me, it was preference of a single life—but I suspect it is—what he imagines to be love—and for some object whom he thinks your Lordship would disapprove.”
“He has not, then, actually confessed this to you?”
“If he has, it was drawn from him by such means, that I am not warranted to say it in direct words.”
“I have entered into no contract, no agreement on his account with the friends of the lady I have pointed out,” said Lord Elmwood; “nothing beyond implications have passed betwixt her family and myself at present; and if the person on whom he has fixed his affections, should not be in a situation absolutely contrary to my wishes, I may, perhaps, confirm his choice.”
That moment Sandford’s courage prompted him to name Lady Matilda, but his discretion opposed—however, in the various changes of his countenance from the conflict, it was plain to discern that he wished to say more than he dared.
On which Lord Elmwood cried,
“Speak on, Sandford—what are you afraid of?”