“I thank you, Sir!” said Delvile, trying to recover and come forward, but trembling violently, and speaking with the most frigid coldness. They were then, for a few instants, all silent; Cecilia, amazed by his arrival, still more amazed by his behaviour, feared to speak lest he meant not, as yet, to avow his marriage, and felt a thousand apprehensions that some new calamity had hurried him home: while Belfield was both hurt by his strangeness, and embarrassed for the sake of Cecilia; and his mother, though wondering at them all, was kept quiet by her son's looks. Delvile then, struggling for an appearance of more ease, said, “I seem to have made a general confusion here:--pray, I beg”-- “None at all, Sir,” said Belfield, and offered a chair to Cecilia. “No, Sir,” she answered, in a voice scarce audible, “I was just going.” And again rang the bell. “I fear I hurry you, madam?” cried Delvile, whose whole frame was now shaking with uncontrollable emotion; “you are upon business--I ought to beg your pardon--my entrance, I believe, was unseasonable.”-- “Sir!” cried she, looking aghast at this speech. “I should have been rather surprised,” he added, “to have met you here, so late,--so unexpectedly,--so deeply engaged--had I not happened to see your servant in the street, who told me the honour I should be likely to have by coming.” “Good God!--” exclaimed she, involuntarily; but, checking herself as well as she could, she courtsied to Mrs Belfield, unable to speak to her, and avoiding even to look at Belfield, who respectfully hung back, she hastened out of the room: accompanied by Mrs Belfield, who again began the most voluble and vulgar apologies for the intrusion she had met with. Delvile also, after a moment's pause, followed, saying, “Give me leave, madam, to see you to your carriage.” Cecilia then, notwithstanding Mrs Belfield still kept talking, could no longer refrain saying, “Good heaven, what does all this mean?” “Rather for _me_ is that question,” he answered, in such agitation he could not, though he meant it, assist her into the chaise, “for mine, I believe, is the greater surprise!” “What surprise?” cried she, “explain, I conjure you!” “By and bye I will,” he answered; “go on postilion.” “Where, Sir?” “Where you came from, I suppose.” “What, Sir, back to Rumford?” “Rumford!” exclaimed he, with encreasing disorder, “you came then from Suffolk hither?--from Suffolk to this very house?” “Good heaven!” cried Cecilia, “come into the chaise, and let me speak and hear to be understood!” “Who is that now in it?” “My Maid.” “Your maid?--and she waits for you thus at the door?”-- “What, what is it you mean?” “Tell the man, madam, whither to go.” “I don't know myself--any where you please--do you order him.” “I order him!--you came not hither to receive orders from _me_!--where was it you had purposed to rest?” “I don't know--I meant to go to Mrs Hill's--I have no place taken.”--