But the natural vivacity, the gaiety which report had given to Miss Milner, were softened by her recent sorrow to a meek sadness.  The instant Dorriforth was introduced to her as her “guardian, and her deceased father’s most beloved friend,” she burst into tears, and kneeling before him, promised ever to obey him as a father.  She told him artlessly she had expected him to be elderly and plain.  He was somewhat embarrassed, but replied that she should find him a plain man in all his actions; and in the conversation which followed, in which she had somewhat lightly referred to his faith, begged that religion should not be named between them, for, as he had resolved never to persecute her, in pity she should be grateful, and not persecute him.

Among the many visitors who attended her levees during the following weeks was Lord Frederick Lawnly, whose intimacy with her Dorriforth beheld with alternate pain and pleasure.  He wished to see his charge married, yet he trembled for her happiness under the care of a young nobleman immersed in all the vices of the town.  His uneasiness made him desire her to forbid Lord Frederick’s visits, who, alarmed, confounded, and provoked, remonstrated passionately.

“By heaven, I believe Mr. Dorriforth loves you himself, and it is jealousy which makes him treat me in this way!”

“For shame, my lord!” cried Miss Woodley, trembling with horror at the sacrilegious idea.

“Nay, shame to him if he is not in love!” answered his lordship.  “For who but a savage could behold beauty like yours without owning its power?  And surely when your guardian looks at you, his wishes------”

“Are never less pure,” Miss Milner replied eagerly, “than those which dwell in the bosom of my celestial guardian.”

At this moment Dorriforth entered the room.

“What’s the matter?” cried he, looking with concern on his discomposure.

“A compliment paid by herself to you, sir,” replied Lord Frederick, “has affected your ward in the manner you have seen.”  And then he changed the subject with an air of ridicule, while Miss Milner threw open the sash, and leaned her head from the window to conceal the embarrassment his implication had caused her.

Although Dorriforth was a good man, there was an obstinacy in his nature which sometimes degenerated into implacable stubbornness.  The child of a sister once beloved, who married a young officer against her brother’s consent, was left an orphan, destitute of all support but from his uncle’s generosity; but, although Dorriforth maintained him, he would never see him.  Miss Milner brought the boy to town once to present him to his uncle, but no sooner did he hear Harry Rushbrook’s name than he set him off his knee, and, calling for his hat, walked instantly from the house, although dinner had just been served.

About this time Miss Milner had the humiliation of having Miss Fenton held up to her as a pattern for her to follow; but, instead of being inspired to emulation, she was provoked to envy.  Young, beautiful, elegant, Miss Fenton was betrothed to Lord Elmwood, Mr. Dorriforth’s cousin; and Dorriforth, whose heart was not formed—­at least, not educated—­for love, beheld in her the most perfect model for her sex.