“Do you suppose _that_ wealth can be esteemed, which has not been able to make you respectable? What is it makes wealth valuable? Is it the pleasures of the table? the pleasure of living in a fine house? or of wearing fine cloaths? These are pleasures, a Lord enjoys, but in common with his valet. It is the pleasure of being conspicuous, which makes riches desirable; but if we are conspicuous only for our vice and folly, had we not better remain in poverty?” “You are beneath my notice.” “I trust I shall continue so—and that your Lordship will never again condescend to come where I am.” “A man of rank condescends to mix with any society, when a pretty woman is the object.” “My Lord, I have a book here in my pocket, which I am eager to read; it is an author who speaks sense and reason—will you pardon the impatience I feel for such company; and permit me to call your carriage?” Saying this, he went hastily and beckoned to the coachman; the carriage drove up, the door was opened, and Lord Margrave, ashamed to be exposed before his attendants, and convinced of the inutility of remaining any longer where he was, departed. Sandford was soon joined by the ladies; and the conversation falling, of course, upon the nobleman who had just taken his leave, Sandford unwarily exclaimed, “I wish Rushbrook had been here.” “Who?” cried Lady Matilda. “I do believe,” said Miss Woodley, “that young man has some good qualities.” “A great many,” returned Sandford, mutteringly. “Happy young man!” cried Matilda: “he is beloved by all those, whose affection it would be my choice to possess, beyond any other blessing this world could bestow.” “And yet I question, if Rushbrook is happy,” said Sandford. “He cannot be otherwise,” returned Matilda, “if he is a man of understanding.” “He does not want understanding neither,” replied Sandford; “although he has certainly many indiscretions.” “But which Lord Elmwood, I suppose,” said Matilda, “looks upon with tenderness.” “Not upon all his faults,” answered Sandford; “for I have seen him in very dangerous circumstances with your father.” “Have you indeed?” cried Matilda: “then I pity him.” “And I believe,” said Miss Woodley, “that from his heart, he compassionates you. Now, Mr. Sandford,” continued she, “though this is the first time I ever heard you speak in his favour, (and I once thought as indifferently of Mr. Rushbrook as you can do) yet now I will venture to ask you, whether you do not think he wishes Lady Matilda much happier than she is?” “I have heard him say so,” answered Sandford. “It is a subject,” returned Lady Matilda, “which I did not imagine you, Mr. Sandford, would have permitted him to have mentioned lightly, in your presence.” “Lightly! Do you suppose, my dear, we turned your situation into ridicule?” “No, Sir,—but there is a sort of humiliation in the grief to which I am doomed, that ought surely to be treated with the highest degree of delicacy by my friends.”