A suspicion now arose in her mind which made it thrill with horror;
"good God! she exclaimed, can Mr Monckton---"

She stopt, even to herself;--she checked the idea;--she drove it
hastily from her;--she was certain it was false and cruel,--she hated
herself for having started it.

"No," cried she, "he is my friend, the confirmed friend of many years,
my well-wisher from childhood, my zealous counsellor and assistant
almost from my birth to this hour:--such perfidy from him would not
even be human!"

Yet still her perplexity was undiminished; the affair was undoubtedly
known, and it only could be known by the treachery of some one
entrusted with it: and however earnestly her generosity combated her
rising suspicions, she could not wholly quell them; and Mr Monckton's
strange aversion to the Delviles, his earnestness to break off her
connexion with them, occurred to her remembrance, and haunted her
perforce with surmises to his disadvantage.

That gentleman, when he came home, found her in this comfortless and
fluctuating state, endeavouring to form conjectures upon what had
happened, yet unable to succeed, but by suggestions which one moment
excited her abhorrence of him, and the next of herself.

He enquired, with his usual appearance of easy friendliness, into what
had passed with her two guardians, and how she had settled her affairs.
She answered without hesitation all his questions, but her manner was
cold and reserved, though her communication was frank.