She expected every instant to be again joined by young
Delvile, but the expectation was disappointed; he
came not; she concluded he was in another apartment;
the company was summoned to supper, she then thought
it impossible to miss him; but, after waiting and looking
for him in vain, she found he had already left the
house.
The rest of the evening she scarce knew what passed,
for she attended to nothing; Mr Monckton might watch,
and Mr Briggs might exhort her, Sir Robert might display
his insolence, or Mr Marriot his gallantry,—
all was equally indifferent, and equally unheeded;
and before half the company left the house, she retired
to her own room.
She spent the night in the utmost disturbance; the
occurrences of the evening with respect to young Delvile
she looked upon as decisive: if his absence had
chagrined her, his presence had still more shocked
her, since, while she was left to conjecture, though
she had fears she had hopes, and though all she saw
was gloomy, all she expected was pleasant; but they
had now met, and those expectations proved fallacious.
She knew not, indeed, how to account for the strangeness
of his conduct; but in seeing it was strange, she was
convinced it was unfavourable: he had evidently
avoided her while it was in his power, and when, at
last, he was obliged to meet her, he was formal, distant,
and reserved.
The more she recollected and dwelt upon the difference
of his behaviour in their preceding meeting, the more
angry as well as amazed she became at the change,
and though she still concluded the pursuit of some
other object occasioned it, she could find no excuse
for his fickleness if that pursuit was recent, nor
for his caprice if it was anterior.
A BROAD HINT.
The next day Cecilia, to drive Delvile a little from
her thoughts, which she now no longer wished him to
occupy, again made a visit to Miss Belfield, whose
society afforded her more consolation than any other
she could procure.
She found her employed in packing up, and preparing
to remove to another lodging, for her brother, she
said, was so much better, that he did not think it
right to continue in so disgraceful a situation.
She talked with her accustomed openness of her affairs,
and the interest which Cecilia involuntarily took
in them, contributed to lessen her vexation in thinking
of her own. “The generous friend of my
brother,” said she, “who, though but a
new acquaintance to him, has courted him in all his
sorrows, when every body else forsook him, has brought
him at last into a better way of thinking. He
says there is a gentleman whose son is soon going
abroad, who he is almost sure will like my brother
vastly, and in another week, he is to be introduced
to him. And so, if my mother can but reconcile
herself to parting with him, perhaps we may all do
well again.”
“Your mother,” said Cecilia, “when
he is gone, will better know the value of the blessing
she has left in her daughter.”
