"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."--

"No place taken!" repeated he, in a voice faultering between passion
and grief; "you purposed, then, to stay here?--I have perhaps driven
you away?"

"Here!" cried Cecilia, mingling, in her turn, indignation with
surprise, "gracious heaven! what is it you mean to doubt?"

"Nothing!" cried he, with emphasis, "I never have had, I never _will_
have a doubt! I will know, I will have _conviction_ for every thing!
Postilion, drive to St James's-square!--to Mr Delvile's. There, madam,
I will wait upon you."

"No! stay, postilion!" called out Cecilia, seized with terror
inexpressible; "let me get out, let me speak with you at once!"

"It cannot be; I will follow you in a few minutes--drive on,
postilion!"

"No, no!--I will not go--I dare not leave you--unkind Delvile!--what is
it you suspect."