Miss
Woodley (who was still in tears) with silence; and awed by her manners,
the faithful friend of her deceased mother exclaimed, "Dear Lady
Matilda, think no more on what I have done--do not resent it any longer,
and on my knees I'll beg your pardon." Miss Woodley rose as she uttered
these last words; but Matilda laid fast hold of her to prevent the
posture she offered to take, and instantly assumed it herself. "Oh, let
this be my atonement!" she cried with the most earnest supplication.

They interchanged forgiveness; and as this reconciliation was sincere,
they each, without reserve, gave their opinion upon the subject that had
caused the misunderstanding; and it was agreed an apology should be sent
to Mr. Rushbrook, "That Miss Woodley had been suddenly indisposed:" nor
could this be said to differ from the truth, for since what had passed
she was unfit to pay a visit.

Rushbrook, who had been all the morning elated with the advance he
supposed he had made in that lady's favour, was highly disappointed,
vexed, and angry, when this apology was delivered; nor did he, nor
perhaps could he, conceal what he felt, although his severe observer,
Mr. Sandford, was present.

"I am a very unfortunate man!" said he, as soon as the servant was gone
who brought the message.

Sandford cast his eyes upon him with a look of surprise and contempt.

"A very unfortunate man indeed, Mr. Sandford," repeated he, "although
you treat my complaint contemptuously."

Sandford made no reply, and seemed above making one.

They sat down to dinner;--Rushbrook eat scarce any thing, but drank
frequently; Sandford took no notice of either, but had a book (which was
his custom when he dined with persons whose conversation was not
interesting to him) laid by the side of his plate, which he occasionally
looked into, as the dishes were removing, or other opportunities served.

Rushbrook, just now more hopeless than ever of forming an acquaintance
with Lady Matilda, began to give way to symptoms of despondency; and
they made their first attack, by urging him, to treat on the same level
of familiarity that he himself was treated, Mr. Sandford, to whom he
had, till now, ever behaved with the most profound tokens of respect.

"Come," said he to him as soon as the dinner was removed, "lay aside
your book and be good company."

Sandford lifted up his eyes upon him--stared in his face--and cast them on
the book again.

"Pshaw," continued Rushbrook,