“I am told of so many strange reports,” said Cecilia, “and all, to myself so unaccountable, that I begin now to hear of them without much wonder.” “That's a charming young man, I believe,” said Morrice; “I had the pleasure once or twice of meeting him at poor Harrel's, and he seemed mighty agreeable. Is not he so, ma'am?” “Yes,--I believe so.” “Nay, I don't mean to speak of him as any thing very extraordinary,” cried Morrice, imagining her hesitation proceeded from dislike, “I merely meant as the world goes,--in a common sort of a way.” Here they were joined by Mr Monckton and some gentlemen who were on a visit at his house; for his anxiety was not of a sort to lead him to solitude, nor his disposition to make him deny himself any kind of enjoyment which he had power to attain. A general conversation ensued, which lasted till Cecilia ended her visit; Mr Monckton then took her hand to lead her to the chaise, but told her, in their way out, of some alterations in his grounds, which he desired to shew her; his view of detaining her was to gather what she thought of her reception, and whether she had yet any suspicions of the jealousy of Lady Margaret; well knowing, from the delicacy of her character, that if once she became acquainted with it, she would scrupulously avoid all intercourse with him, from the fear of encreasing her uneasiness. He began, therefore, with talking of the pleasure which Lady Margaret took in the plantations, and of his hope that Cecilia would often favour her by visiting them, without waiting to have her visits returned, as she was entitled by her infirmities to particular indulgencies. He was continuing in this strain, receiving from Cecilia hardly any answer, when suddenly from behind a thick laurel bush, jumpt up Mr Morrice; who had run out of the house by a shorter cut, and planted himself there to surprise them. “So ho!” cried he with a loud laugh, “I have caught you! This will be a fine anecdote for Lady Margaret; I vow I'll tell her.” Mr Monckton, never off his guard, readily answered “Aye, prithee do, Morrice; but don't omit to relate also what we said of yourself.” “Of me?” cried he, with some eagerness; “why you never mentioned me.” “O that won't pass, I assure you; we shall tell another tale at table by and by; and bring the old proverb of the ill luck of listeners upon you in its full force.” “Well, I'll be hanged if I know what you mean!” “Why you won't pretend you did not hear Miss Beverley say you were the truest Ouran Outang, or man-monkey, she ever knew?” “No, indeed, that I did not! “No?--Nor how much she admired your dexterity in escaping being horse-whipt three times a day for your incurable impudence?” “Not a word on't! Horse-whipt!--Miss Beverley, pray did you say any such thing?”