“But I suppose there is no apprehension of that in the present case?” said Miss Woodley—wishing he might answer in the affirmative.
“Not that I can foresee. No, Heaven forbid,” he replied, “for I look upon them to be formed for each other—their dispositions, their pursuits, their inclinations the same. Their passions for each other just the same—pure—white as snow.”
“And I dare say, not warmer,” replied Miss Milner.
He looked provoked beyond measure.
“My dear,” cried Miss Woodley, “how can you talk thus? I believe in my heart you are only envious, because my Lord Elmwood has not offered himself to you.”
“To her!” said Sandford, affecting an air of the utmost surprise; “to her! Do you think he received a dispensation from his vows, to become the husband of a coquette—a——.”—He was going on.
“Nay, Mr. Sandford,” cried Miss Milner, “I believe, after all, my worst crime, in your eyes, is that of being a heretic.”
“By no means—it is the only circumstance that can apologize for your faults; and if you had not that excuse, there would be none for you.”
“Then, at present, there is an excuse—I thank you, Mr. Sandford—this is the kindest thing you ever said to me. But I am vext to see that you are sorry you have said it.”
“Angry at your being a heretic!” he resumed—“Indeed I should be much more concerned to see you a disgrace to our religion.”