Cecilia too easily conjectured the disappointment she had met, to pain
her by asking it; she forbore even to gratify her own curiosity by
questions that could not but lead to her mortification, and suffering
her therefore to take her own time for what she had to communicate, she
hung over her in silence with the most patient pity.

Henrietta was very sensible of this kindness, though she knew not half
its merit: but it was a long time before she could articulate, for
sobbing, that _all_ Mr Delvile wanted, at last, was only to beg she
would acquaint Miss Beverley, that he had done himself the honour of
waiting upon her with a message from Mrs Delvile.

"From Mrs Delvile?" exclaimed Cecilia, all emotion in her turn, "good
heaven! how much, then, have I been to blame? where is he now?--where
can I send to him?--tell me, my sweet Henrietta, this instant!"

"Oh madam!" cried Henrietta, bursting into a fresh flood of tears, "how
foolish have I been to open my silly heart to you!--he is come to pay
his addresses to you!--I am sure he is!--"

"No, no, no!" cried Cecilia, "indeed he is not!--but I must, I ought to
see him,--where, my love, is he?",

"In the parlour,--waiting for an answer.--"

Cecilia, who at any other time would have been provoked at such a delay
in the delivery of a message so important, felt now nothing but concern
for Henrietta, whom she hastily kissed, but instantly, however,
quitted, and hurried to Delvile, with expectations almost equally
sanguine as those her poor friend but the moment before had crushed.