When she arrived at the door of the study, she opened it with a trepidation she could hardly account for, and entered to Dorriforth the altered woman she has been represented. His heart had taken the most decided part against her, and his face had assumed the most severe aspect of reproach; but her appearance gave an instantaneous change to his whole mind, and countenance.
She halted, as if she feared to approach—he hesitated, as if he knew not how to speak. Instead of the anger with which he was prepared to begin, his voice involuntarily softened, and without knowing what he said, he began,
“My dear Miss Milner.”—
She expected he was angry, and in her confusion his gentleness was lost upon her. She imagined that what he said might be censure, and she continued to tremble, though he repeatedly assured her, that he meant only to advise, not upbraid her.
“For as to all those little disputes between Mr. Sandford and you,” said he, “I should be partial if I blamed you more than him—indeed, when you take the liberty to condemn him, his character makes the freedom appear in a more serious light than when he complains of you—and yet, if he provokes your retorts, he alone must answer for them; nor will I undertake to decide betwixt you. But I have a question to ask you, and to which I require a serious and unequivocal answer. Do you expect Lord Frederick in the country?”
Without hesitation she replied, “I do.”
“One more question I have to ask, madam, and to which I expect a reply equally unreserved. Is Lord Frederick the man you approve for your husband?”
Upon this close interrogation she discovered an embarrassment, beyond any she had ever yet betrayed, and faintly replied,
“No, he is not.”
“Your words tell me one thing,” answered Dorriforth, “but your looks declare another—which am I to believe?”