of Miss Milner, she was yet never wanting in that
respect towards her guardian, which with-held her from ever uttering one
angry sentence, directed immediately to him; and a severe word of his,
instead of exasperating, was sure to subdue her. This was the case at
present--his words wounded her to the heart, but she had not the asperity
to reply to them as she thought they merited, and she burst into tears.
Dorriforth, instead of being concerned, as he usually was at seeing her
uneasy, appeared on the present occasion provoked. He thought her
weeping was a new reproach to his friend Mr. Sandford, and that to
suffer himself to be moved by it, would be a tacit condemnation of his
friend's conduct. She understood his thoughts, and getting the better
of her tears, apologised for her weakness; adding,

"She could never bear with indifference an unjust accusation."

"To prove that mine was unjust, Madam," replied Dorriforth; "be prepared
to quit London, without any marks of regret, in a few days."

She bowed assent; the necessary preparations were agreed upon; and while
with apparent satisfaction she adjusted the plan of her journey, (like
those who behave well, not so much to please themselves as to vex their
enemies,) she secretly triumphed in the mortification she hoped that Mr.
Sandford would receive from her obedient behaviour.

The news of this intended journey was of course soon made public. There
is a secret charm in being pitied, when the misfortune is but ideal; and
Miss Milner found infinite gratification in being told, "That her's was
a cruel case, and that it was unjust and barbarous to force so much
beauty into concealment while London was filled with her admirers; who,
like her, would languish in consequence of her solitude." These things,
and a thousand such, a thousand times repeated, she still listened to
with pleasure; yet preserved the constancy not to shrink from her
resolution of submitting.

Those involuntary sighs, however, that Miss Woodley had long ago
observed, became still more frequent; and a tear half starting in her
eye was an additional subject of her friend's observation. Yet though
Miss Milner at those times was softened into melancholy, she by no means
appeared unhappy. Her friend was acquainted with love only by name; yet
she was confirmed from these increased symptoms, in what she before only
suspected, that _love_ must be the foundation of her care. "Her senses
have been captivated by