“And I hope you found benefit from them:” said Miss Milner, with great kindness, as she rose from her seat, and walked slowly out of the room.
Though Miss Woodley followed her, so that Mr. Sandford was left alone with Lord Elmwood, and might have continued his unkind insinuations without one restraint, yet his lips were closed for the present. He looked down on the carpet—twitched himself upon his chair—and began to talk of the weather.
CHAPTER IV.
When the first transports of despair were past, Miss Milner suffered herself to be once more in hope. She found there were no other means to support her life; and to her comfort, her friend was much less severe on the present occasion than she expected. No engagement between mortals was, in Miss Woodley’s opinion, binding like that entered into with heaven; and whatever vows Lord Elmwood had possibly made to another, she justly supposed that no woman’s love for him equalled Miss Milner’s—it was prior to all others too; that established her claim to contend at least for success; and in a contention, what rival would not fall before her?
It was not difficult to guess who this rival was; or if they were a little time in suspence, Miss Woodley soon arrived at the certainty, by inquiring of Mr. Sandford; who, unsuspecting why she asked, readily informed her the intended Lady Elmwood was no other than Miss Fenton; and that their marriage would be solemnized as soon as the mourning for the late Lord Elmwood was over. This last intelligence made Miss Woodley shudder—she repeated it, however, to Miss Milner, word for word.
“Happy! happy woman!” exclaimed Miss Milner of Miss Fenton; “she has received the first fond impulse of his heart, and has had the transcendent happiness of teaching him to love!”
“By no means,” returned Miss Woodley, finding no other suggestion likely to comfort her; “do not suppose that his marriage is the result of love—it is no more than a duty, a necessary arrangement, and this you may plainly see by the wife on whom he has fixed. Miss Fenton was thought a proper match for his cousin, and that same propriety has transferred her to him.”
It was easy to convince Miss Milner that all her friend said was truth, for she wished it so. “And oh!” she exclaimed, “could I but stimulate passion, against the cold influence of propriety;—Do you think, my dear Miss Woodley,” (and she looked with such begging eyes, it was impossible not to answer as she wished,) “do you think it would be unjust to Miss Fenton, were I to inspire her destined husband with a passion which she may not have inspired, and which I believe she cannot feel?”
Miss Woodley paused a minute, and then answered, “No:”—but there was a hesitation in her manner of delivery—she did say, “No:” but she looked as if she was afraid she ought to have said “Yes.” Miss Milner, however, did not give her time to recall the word, or to alter its meaning by adding others to it, but ran on eagerly, and declared, “As that was her opinion, she would abide by it, and do all she could to supplant her rival.” In order, nevertheless, to justify this determination, and satisfy the conscience of Miss Woodley, they both concluded that Miss Fenton’s heart was not engaged in the intended marriage, and consequently that she was indifferent whether it ever took place or not.