“You can but try,” returned Sandford; “and if you should not succeed now, at least fix the time you mean to go during the autumn, and be firm to your determination.” “But in the autumn,” replied Dorriforth, “Lord Frederick will of course be in the country; and as his uncle’s estate is near our residence, he will not then so evidently follow her, as he would if I could induce her to go now.” It was agreed the attempt should be made. Instead of receiving this abrupt proposal with uneasiness, Miss Milner, to the surprise of all present, immediately consented; and gave her guardian an opportunity of saying several of the kindest and politest things upon her ready compliance. “A token of approbation from you, Mr. Dorriforth,” returned she, “I always considered with high estimation—but your commendations are now become infinitely superior in value by their scarcity; for I do not believe that since Miss Fenton and Mr. Sandford came to town, I have received one testimony of your esteem.” Had these words been uttered with pleasantry, they might have passed without observation; but at the conclusion of the period, resentment flew to Miss Milner’s face, and she darted a piercing look at Mr. Sandford, which more pointedly expressed that she was angry with him, than if she had spoken volumes in her usual strain of raillery. Dorriforth was confused—but the concern which she had so plainly evinced for his good opinion throughout all that she had been saying, silenced any rebuke he might else have given her, for this unwarrantable charge against his friend. Mrs. Horton was shocked at the irreverent manner in which Mr. Sandford was treated—and Miss Woodley turned to him with a benevolent smile upon her face, hoping to set him an example of the manner in which he should receive the reproach. Her good wishes did not succeed—yet he was perfectly unruffled, and replied with coolness, “The air of the country has affected the lady already—but it is a comfortable thing,” continued he, “that in the variety of humours to which some women are exposed, they cannot be uniform even in deceit.” “Deceit!” cried Miss Milner, “in what am I deceitful? did I ever pretend that I had an esteem for you?” “That would not have been deceit, Madam, but merely good manners.” “I never, Mr. Sandford, sacrificed truth to politeness.” “Except when the country has been proposed, and you thought it politeness to appear satisfied.” “And I _was_ satisfied, till I recollected that you might probably be of the party—then, every grove was changed into a wilderness, every rivulet into a stagnated pool, and every singing bird into a croaking raven.” “A very poetical description,” returned he calmly. “But, Miss Milner, you need not have had any apprehensions of _my_ company in the country, for I understand the seat to which your guardian means to go, belongs to you; and you may depend upon it, Madam, that I shall never enter a house in which you are the mistress.”