By this time all her acquaintance had given Lord Frederick to her as a lover; the servants whispered it, and some of the public prints had even fixed the day of marriage;—but as no explanation had taken place on his part, Dorriforth’s uneasiness was increased, and he seriously told his ward, he thought it would be indispensably prudent in her to entreat Lord Frederick to discontinue his visits. She smiled with ridicule at the caution, but finding it repeated, and in a manner that indicated authority, she promised not only to make, but to enforce the request. The next time he came she did so, assuring him it was by her guardian’s desire; “Who, from motives of delicacy, had permitted her to solicit as a favour, what he could himself make a demand.” Lord Frederick reddened with anger—he loved Miss Milner; but he doubted whether, from the frequent proofs he had experienced of his own inconstancy, he should continue to love—and this interference of her guardian threatened an explanation or a dismission, before he became thoroughly acquainted with his own heart.—Alarmed, confounded, and provoked, he replied, “By heaven, I believe Mr. Dorriforth loves you himself, and it is jealousy that makes him treat me in this manner.” “For shame, my Lord!” cried Miss Woodley, who was present, and who trembled 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 her’s without owning its power?” “Habit,” replied Miss Milner, “is every thing—Mr. Dorriforth sees and converses with beauty, but from habit he does not fall in love; as you, my Lord, from habit, so often do.” “Then you believe that love is not in my nature?” “No more of it, my Lord, than habit could very soon extinguish.” “But I would not have it extinguished—I would rather it should mount to a flame, for I think it a crime to be insensible of the divine blessings love can bestow.” “Then you indulge the passion to avoid a sin?—this very motive deters Mr. Dorriforth from that indulgence.” “It ought to deter him, for the sake of his oaths—but monastick vows, like those of marriage, were made to be broken—and surely when your guardian looks at you, his wishes”—— “Are never less pure,” she replied eagerly, “than those which dwell in the bosom of my _celestial_ guardian.” At that instant Dorriforth entered the room. The colour had mounted into Miss Milner’s face from the warmth with which she had delivered her opinion, and his accidental entrance at the very moment this praise had been conferred upon him in his absence, heightened the blush to a deep glow on every feature—confusion and earnestness caused even her lips to tremble and her whole frame to shake. “What’s the matter?” cried Dorriforth, looking with concern on her discomposure. “A compliment paid by herself to you, Sir,” replied Lord Frederick, “has affected your ward in the manner you have seen.”