ABSTRACT
The morning brought with it only accumulated anguish for Sir Edward. He attempted to appear gay because he could not be tranquil: but his smile was the forced effort of stifled despair; and while he affected to talk of indifferent matters, the broken and incoherent sentences faultered on his tongue. Ethelinde saw how wretched he was, with concern little short of his own; and dreaded to ask for the picture, which, however reluctantly, her promise to Montgomery compelled her to do. Miss Newenden, however, left them not alone; and Ethelinde, hesitating and fearful, at length said – ‘Sir Edward, you have a little miniature which was my poor father’s: a friend of mine is desirous of having a copy of it. Will you be so good as to lend it me that I may send it to a person who paints miniatures, for that purpose?’
