“Why then only upon their extinction must I rest my hope of your favour?” Cecilia, staggered and distressed by this question, could make no answer. Delvile, perceiving her embarrassment, redoubled his urgency; and before she had power to recollect herself, she had almost consented to his plan, when Henrietta Belfield rushing into her memory, she hastily exclaimed, “One doubt there is, which I know not how to mention, but ought to have cleared up;--you are acquainted with--you remember Miss Belfield?” “Certainly; but what of Miss Belfield that can raise a doubt in the mind of Miss Beverley?” Cecilia coloured, and was silent. “Is it possible,” continued he, “you could ever for an instant suppose--but I cannot even name a supposition so foreign to all possibility.” “She is surely very amiable?” “Yes,” answered he, “she is innocent, gentle, and engaging; and I heartily wish she were in a better situation.” “Did you ever occasionally, or by any accident, correspond with her?” “Never in my life.” “And were not your visits to the brother sometimes--” “Have a care,” interrupted he, laughing, “lest I reverse the question, and ask if your visits to the sister were not sometimes for the brother! But what does this mean? Could Miss Beverley imagine that after knowing her, the charms of Miss Belfield could put me in any danger?” Cecilia, bound in delicacy and friendship not to betray the tender and trusting Henrietta, and internally satisfied of his innocence by his frankness, evaded any answer; and would now have done with the subject; but Delvile, eager wholly to exculpate himself, though by no means displeased at an enquiry which shewed so much interest in his affections, continued his explanation. “Miss Belfield has, I grant, an attraction in the simplicity of her manners which charms by its singularity; her heart, too, seems all purity, and her temper all softness. I have not, you find, been blind to her merit; on the contrary, I have both admired and pitied her. But far indeed is she removed from all chance of rivalry in my heart! A character such as hers for a while is irresistibly alluring; but when its novelty is over, simplicity uninformed becomes wearisome, and softness without dignity is too indiscriminate to give delight. We sigh for entertainment, when cloyed by mere sweetness; and heavily drags on the load of life when the companion of our social hours wants spirit, intelligence, and cultivation. With Miss Beverley all these--” “Talk not of all these,” cried Cecilia, “when one single obstacle has power to render them valueless.” “But now,” cried he, “that obstacle is surmounted.” “Surmounted only for a moment! for even in your letter this morning you confess the regret with which it fills you.”