succeeded; though, in a state of such suspence and anxiety, a man of
brighter talents had failed.

At the end of the two dances, Lord Ernolf again attempted to engage
her for his son, but she now excused herself from dancing any more,
and sat quietly as a spectatress till the rest of the company gave
over. Mr Marriot, however, would not quit her, and she was compelled
to support with him a trifling conversation, which, though irksome to
herself, to him, who had not _seen her in her happier hour_, was
delightful.

She expected every instant to be again joined by young Delvile, but
the expectation was disappointed; he came not; she concluded he was in
another apartment; the company was summoned to supper, she then
thought it impossible to miss him; but, after waiting and looking for
him in vain, she found he had already left the house.

The rest of the evening she scarce knew what passed, for she attended
to nothing; Mr Monckton might watch, and Mr Briggs might exhort her,
Sir Robert might display his insolence, or Mr Marriot his gallantry,--
all was equally indifferent, and equally unheeded; and before half
the company left the house, she retired to her own room.

She spent the night in the utmost disturbance; the occurrences of the
evening with respect to young Delvile she looked upon as decisive: if
his absence had chagrined her, his presence had still more shocked
her, since, while she was left to conjecture, though she had fears she
had hopes, and though all she saw was gloomy, all she expected was
pleasant; but they had now met, and those expectations proved
fallacious. She knew not, indeed, how to account for the strangeness