At length she rose up, and followed Miss Woodley to the other apartment. She entered grave, majestic and apparently serene, while her poor heart fluttered with a thousand distressing sensations. She approached Miss Woodley (who was still in tears) with silence; and awed by her manners, the faithful friend of her deceased mother exclaimed, “Dear Lady Matilda, think no more on what I have done—do not resent it any longer, and on my knees I’ll beg your pardon.” Miss Woodley rose as she uttered these last words; but Matilda laid fast hold of her to prevent the posture she offered to take, and instantly assumed it herself. “Oh, let this be my atonement!” she cried with the most earnest supplication. They interchanged forgiveness; and as this reconciliation was sincere, they each, without reserve, gave their opinion upon the subject that had caused the misunderstanding; and it was agreed an apology should be sent to Mr. Rushbrook, “That Miss Woodley had been suddenly indisposed:” nor could this be said to differ from the truth, for since what had passed she was unfit to pay a visit. Rushbrook, who had been all the morning elated with the advance he supposed he had made in that lady’s favour, was highly disappointed, vexed, and angry, when this apology was delivered; nor did he, nor perhaps could he, conceal what he felt, although his severe observer, Mr. Sandford, was present. “I am a very unfortunate man!” said he, as soon as the servant was gone who brought the message. Sandford cast his eyes upon him with a look of surprise and contempt. “A very unfortunate man indeed, Mr. Sandford,” repeated he, “although you treat my complaint contemptuously.” Sandford made no reply, and seemed above making one. They sat down to dinner;—Rushbrook eat scarce any thing, but drank frequently; Sandford took no notice of either, but had a book (which was his custom when he dined with persons whose conversation was not interesting to him) laid by the side of his plate, which he occasionally looked into, as the dishes were removing, or other opportunities served. Rushbrook, just now more hopeless than ever of forming an acquaintance with Lady Matilda, began to give way to symptoms of despondency; and they made their first attack, by urging him, to treat on the same level of familiarity that he himself was treated, Mr. Sandford, to whom he had, till now, ever behaved with the most profound tokens of respect. “Come,” said he to him as soon as the dinner was removed, “lay aside your book and be good company.” Sandford lifted up his eyes upon him—stared in his face—and cast them on the book again. “Pshaw,” continued Rushbrook, “I want a companion; and as Miss Woodley has disappointed me, I must have your company.”