Cecilia was conquered, but unclaimed.  While supporting and approving him in her heart she was dreading to receive some new problem of his conduct; and still while she blamed him for not seeking an interview with her, she liked him for this instance of delicacy in the present state of his relations with Lord Avonley.

A problem of her own conduct disturbed the young lady’s clear conception of herself:  and this was a ruffling of unfaithfulness in her love of Beauchamp, that was betrayed to her by her forgetfulness of him whenever she chanced to be with Seymour Austin.  In Mr. Austin’s company she recovered her forfeited repose, her poetry of life, her image of the independent Cecilia throned above our dust of battle, gazing on broad heaven.  She carried the feeling so far that Blackburn Tuckham’s enthusiasm for Mr. Austin gave him grace in her sight, and praise of her father’s favourite from Mr. Austin’s mouth made him welcome to her.  The image of that grave capable head, dusty-grey about the temples, and the darkly sanguine face of the tried man, which was that of a seasoned warrior and inspired full trust in him, with his vivid look, his personal distinction, his plain devotion to the country’s business, and the domestic solitude he lived in, admired, esteemed, loved perhaps, but unpartnered, was often her refuge and haven from tempestuous Beauchamp.  She could see in vision the pride of Seymour Austin’s mate.  It flushed her reflectively.  Conquered but not claimed, Cecilia was like the frozen earth insensibly moving round to sunshine in nature, with one white flower in her breast as innocent a sign of strong sweet blood as a woman may wear.  She ascribed to that fair mate of Seymour Austin’s many lofty charms of womanhood; above all, stateliness:  her especial dream of an attainable superlative beauty in women.  And supposing that lady to be accused of the fickle breaking of another love, who walked beside him, matched with his calm heart and one with him in counsel, would the accusation be repeated by them that beheld her husband? might it not rather be said that she had not deviated, but had only stepped higher?  She chose no youth, no glistener, no idler:  it was her soul striving upward to air like a seed in the earth that raised her to him:  and she could say to the man once enchaining her:  Friend, by the good you taught me I was led to this!

Cecilia’s reveries fled like columns of mist before the gale when tidings reached her of a positive rupture between Lord Avonley and Nevil Beauchamp, and of the mandate to him to quit possession of Holdesbury and the London house within a certain number of days, because of his refusal to utter an apology to Mrs. Culling.  Angrily on his behalf she prepared to humble herself to him.  Louise Wardour-Devereux brought them to a meeting, at which Cecilia, with her heart in her hand, was icy.  Mr. Lydiard, prompted by Mrs. Devereux, gave him better reasons for her singular coldness than Cecilia could give