Mr. Sandford, although he was a man of understanding, of learning, and a complete casuist, yet all the faults he himself committed, were entirely—for want of knowing better. He constantly reproved faults in others, and he was most assuredly too good a man not to have corrected and amended his own, had they been known to him—but they were not. He had been for so long a time the superior of all with whom he lived, had been so busied with instructing others, that he had not recollected that himself wanted instructions—and in such awe did his habitual severity keep all about him, that although he had numerous friends, not one told him of his failings—except just now Lord Elmwood, but whom, in this instance, as a man in love, he would not credit. Was there not then some reason for him to suppose he _had_ no faults? his enemies, indeed, hinted that he had, but enemies he never harkened to; and thus, with all his good sense, wanted the sense to follow the rule, _Believe what your enemies say of you, rather than what is said by your friends_. This rule attended to, would make a thousand people amiable, who are now the reverse; and would have made _him_ a perfectly upright character. For could an enemy to whom he would have listened, have whispered to Sandford as he left Lord Elmwood, “Cruel, barbarous man! you go away with your heart satisfied, nay, even elated, in the prospect that Miss Milner’s hopes, on which she alone exists, those hopes which keep her from the deepest affliction, and cherish her with joy and gladness, will all be disappointed. You flatter yourself it is for the sake of your friend, Lord Elmwood, that you rejoice, and because he has escaped a danger. You wish him well; but there is another cause for your exultation which you will not seek to know—it is, that in his safety, shall dwell the punishment of his ward. For shame! for shame! forgive her faults, as this of yours requires to be forgiven.” Had any one said this to Sandford, whom he would have credited, or had his own heart suggested it, he was a man of that rectitude and conscientiousness, that he would have returned immediately to Lord Elmwood, and have strengthened all his favourable opinions of his intended wife—but having no such monitor, he walked on, highly contented, and meeting Miss Woodley, said, with an air of triumph, “Where’s your friend? where’s Lady Elmwood?” Miss Woodley smiled, and answered—She was gone with such and such ladies to an auction. “But why give her that title already, Mr. Sandford?” “Because,” answered he, “I think she will never have it.” “Bless me, Mr. Sandford,” said Miss Woodley, “you shock me!” “I thought I should,” replied he, “and therefore I told it you.” “For Heaven’s sake what has happened?” “Nothing new—her indiscretions only.” “I know she is imprudent,” said Miss Woodley—“I can see that her conduct is often exceptionable—but then Lord Elmwood surely loves her, and love will overlook a great deal.”