These ladies heard with infinite satisfaction that dinner had been served, but met Miss Milner at the table with a less degree of pleasure than they had expected; for her mind was so totally abstracted from any consideration of them, that they could not discern a single blush, or confused glance, which their presence occasioned. No, she had before them divulged nothing of which she was ashamed; she was only ashamed that what she had said was not true. In the bosom of Miss Woodley alone was that secret entrusted which could call a blush into her face, and before her, she did feel confusion—before the gentle friend, to whom she had till this time communicated all her faults without embarrassment, she now cast down her eyes in shame.
Soon after the dinner was removed, Lord Elmwood entered; and that gallant young nobleman declared—“Mr. Sandford had used him ill, in not permitting him to accompany his relation; for he feared that Mr. Dorriforth would now throw himself upon the sword of Lord Frederick, without a single friend near to defend him.” A rebuke from the eye of Miss Woodley, which from this day had a command over Miss Milner, restrained her from expressing the affright she suffered from this intimation. Miss Fenton replied, “As to that, my Lord, I see no reason why Mr. Dorriforth and Lord Frederick should not now be friends.” “Certainly,” said Mrs. Horton; “for as soon as my Lord Frederick is made acquainted with Miss Milner’s confession, all differences must be reconciled.”
“What confession?” asked Lord Elmwood.
Miss Milner, to avoid hearing a repetition of that which gave her pain even to recollect, rose in order to retire into her own apartment, but was obliged to sit down again, till she received the assistance of Lord Elmwood and her friend, who led her into her dressing room. She reclined upon a sofa there, and though left alone with that friend, a silence followed of half an hour; nor when the conversation began, was the name of Dorriforth once uttered—they were grown cool and considerate since the discovery, and both were equally fearful of naming him.
The vanity of the world, the folly of riches, the charms of retirement, and such topics engaged their discourse, but not their thoughts, for near two hours; and the first time the word Dorriforth was spoken, was by a servant, who with alacrity opened the dressing room door, without previously rapping, and cried, “Madam, Mr. Dorriforth.”
Dorriforth immediately came in, and went eagerly to Miss Milner. Miss Woodley beheld the glow of joy and of guilt upon her face, and did not rise to give him her seat, as was her custom, when she was sitting by his ward and he came to her with intelligence. He therefore stood while he repeated all that had happened in his interview with Lord Frederick.
But with her gladness to see her guardian safe, she had forgot to enquire of the safety of his antagonist; of the man whom she had pretended to love so passionately—even smiles of rapture were upon her face, though Dorriforth might be returned from putting him to death. This incongruity of behaviour Miss Woodley observed, and was confounded—but Dorriforth, in whose thoughts a suspicion either of her love for him, or indifference for Lord Frederick, had no place, easily reconciled this inconsistency, and said,
“You see by my countenance that all is well, and therefore you smile on me before I tell you what has passed.”
This brought her to the recollection of her conduct, and now with looks ill constrained, she attempted the expression of an alarm she did not feel.
“Nay, I assure you Lord Frederick is safe,” he resumed, “and the disgrace of his blow washed entirely away, by a few drops of blood from this arm.” And he laid his hand upon his left arm, which rested in his waistcoat as a kind of sling.