Miss Woodley replied, “I was at a loss what to do;—when we met formerly, he always spoke first.” “And he ought now,” cried Sandford angrily—and then added, with a sarcastic smile, “It is certainly proper that the _superior_, should be the first who speaks.” “He did not look as if he thought himself our superior,” replied Matilda. “No,” returned Sandford, “some people can put on what looks they please.” “Then while he looks so pale,” replied Matilda, “and so dejected, I can never forbear speaking to him when we meet, whatever he may think of it.” “And were he and I to meet a hundred, nay a thousand times,” returned Sandford, “I don’t think I should ever speak to him again.” “Bless me! what for, Mr. Sandford?” cried Matilda—for Sandford, who was not a man that repeated little incidents, had never mentioned the circumstance of their quarrel. “I have taken such a resolution,” answered he, “yet I bear him no enmity.” As this short reply indicated that he meant to say no more, no more was asked; and the subject was dropped. In the mean time, Rushbrook, happier than he had been for months, intoxicated with joy at that voluntary mark of civility he had received from Lady Matilda, felt his heart so joyous, and so free from every particle of malice, that he resolved, in the humblest manner, to make atonement for the violation of decorum he had lately committed against Mr. Sandford. Too happy, at this time, to suffer a mortification from any indignities he might receive, he sent his servant to him into his study, as soon as he was returned home, to beg to know “If he might be permitted to wait upon him, with a message he had to deliver from Lord Elmwood.” The servant returned—“Mr. Sandford desired he would send the message by him, or the house-steward.” This was highly affronting; but Rushbrook was not in a humour to be offended, and he sent again, begging he would admit him; but the answer was, “He was busy.” Thus wholly defeated in his hopes of reconciliation, his new transports felt an allay, and the few days that remained before Lord Elmwood came, he passed in solitary musing, and ineffectual walks and looks towards that path in which he had met Matilda—she came that way no more—indeed scarce quitted her apartment, in the practice of that confinement she was to experience on the arrival of her father.