"I know not!" said she, endeavouring to recover herself, "but your
coming was unexpected: I was just writing to you at Margate."

"Write still, then; but direct to Ostend; I shall be quicker than the
post; and I would not lose a letter--a line--a word from you, for all
the world can offer me!"

"Quicker than the post?" cried Cecilia; "but how can Mrs Delvile--" she
stopt; not knowing what she might venture to ask.

"She is now on the road to Margate; I hope to be there to receive her.
I mean but to bid you adieu, and be gone."

Cecilia made no answer; she was more and more astonished, more and more
confounded.

"You are thoughtful?" said he, with tenderness; "are you unhappy?--
sweetest Cecilia! most excellent of human creatures! if I have made you
unhappy--and I must!--it is inevitable!--"

"Oh Delvile!" cried she, now assuming more courage, "why will you not
speak to me openly?--something, I see, is wrong; may I not hear it? may
I not tell you, at least, my concern that any thing has distressed
you?"

"You are too good!" cried he; "to deserve you is not possible, but to
afflict you is inhuman!" "Why so?" cried she, more chearfully; "must I
not share the common lot? or expect the whole world to be new modelled,
lest I should meet in it any thing but happiness?"