Cecilia, extremely embarrassed, made no answer; she much regretted the circumstances which had prevented an earlier communication, and was uncertain whether, now, it would prove most kind or most cruel to acquaint her with what was in agitation, which, should it terminate in nothing, was unnecessarily wounding her delicacy for the openness of her confidence, and which, however serviceable it might prove to her in the end, was in the means so rough and piercing she felt the utmost repugnance to the experiment. “You think me, madam, too free,” said Henrietta, “in asking such a question; and indeed your kindness has been so great, it may well make me forget myself: but if it does, I am sure I deserve you should send me home directly, and then there is not much fear I shall soon be brought to my senses!” “No, my dear Henrietta, I can never think you too free; I have told you already every thing I thought you would have pleasure in hearing; whatever I have concealed, I have been fearful would only pain you.” “I have _deserved_, madam,” said she, with spirit, “to be pained, for I have behaved with the folly of a baby. I am very angry with myself indeed! I was old enough to have known better,--and I ought to have been wise enough.” “You must then be angry with yourself, next,” said Cecilia, anxious to re-encourage her, “for all the love that I bear you; since to your openness and frankness it was entirely owing.” “But there are some things that people should _not_ be frank in; however, I am only come now to beg you will tell me, madam, when it is to be;--and don't think I ask out of nothing but curiosity, for I have a very great reason for it indeed.” “What be, my dear Henrietta?--you are very rapid in your ideas!” “I will tell you, madam, what my reason is; I shall go away to my own home,--and so I would if it were ten times a worse home than it is!--just exactly the day before. Because afterwards I shall never like to look that gentleman in the face,--never, never!--for married ladies I know are not to be trusted!” “Be not apprehensive; you have no occasion. Whatever may be my fate, I will never be so treacherous as to betray my beloved Henrietta to _any_ body.” “May I ask you, madam, one question?” “Certainly.” “Why did all this never happen before?” “Indeed,” cried Cecilia, much distressed, “I know not that it will happen now.” “Why what, dear madam, can hinder it?” “A thousand, thousand things! nothing can be less secure.” “And then I am still as much puzzled as ever. I heard, a good while ago, and we all heard that it was to be; and I thought that it was no wonder, I am sure, for I used often to think it was just what was most likely; but afterwards we heard it was no such thing, and from that moment I always believed there had been nothing at all in it.”