“The axe is better than decay, do you not think?”

“I think your influence will be great and always used to good purpose.”

“My influence, Miss Dale?  I have begged a favour this morning and can not obtain the grant.”

It was lightly said, but Clara’s face was more significant, and “What?” leaped from Laetitia’s lips.

Before she could excuse herself, Clara had answered:  “My liberty.”

In another and higher tone Laetitia said, “What?” and she looked round on her companion; she looked in the doubt that is open to conviction by a narrow aperture, and slowly and painfully yields access.  Clara saw the vacancy of her expression gradually filling with woefulness.

“I have begged him to release me from my engagement, Miss Dale.”

“Sir Willoughby?”

“It is incredible to you.  He refuses.  You see I have no influence.”

“Miss Middleton, it is terrible!”

“To be dragged to the marriage service against one’s will?  Yes.”

“Oh!  Miss Middleton!”

“Do you not think so?”

“That cannot be your meaning.”

“You do not suspect me of trifling?  You know I would not.  I am as much in earnest as a mouse in a trap.”

“No, you will not misunderstand me!  Miss Middleton, such a blow to Sir Willoughby would be shocking, most cruel!  He is devoted to you.”

“He was devoted to Miss Durham.”

“Not so deeply:  differently.”

“Was he not very much courted at that time?  He is now; not so much:  he is not so young.  But my reason for speaking of Miss Durham was to exclaim at the strangeness of a girl winning her freedom to plunge into wedlock.  Is it comprehensible to you?  She flies from one dungeon into another.  These are the acts which astonish men at our conduct, and cause them to ridicule and, I dare say, despise us.”

“But, Miss Middleton, for Sir Willoughby to grant such a request, if it was made . . .”

“It was made, and by me, and will be made again.  I throw it all on my unworthiness, Miss Dale.  So the county will think of me, and quite justly.  I would rather defend him than myself.  He requires a different wife from anything I can be.  That is my discovery; unhappily a late one.  The blame is all mine.  The world cannot be too hard on me.  But I must be free if I am to be kind in my judgements even of the gentleman I have injured.”

“So noble a gentleman!” Laetitia sighed.

“I will subscribe to any eulogy of him,” said Clara, with a penetrating thought as to the possibility of a lady experienced in him like Laetitia taking him for noble.  “He has a noble air.  I say it sincerely, that your appreciation of him proves his nobility.”  Her feeling of opposition to Sir Willoughby pushed her to this extravagance, gravely perplexing Laetitia.  “And it is,” added Clara, as if to support what she had said, “a withering rebuke to me; I know him less, at least have not had so long an experience of him.”