To George Mordaunt, Esq;
June 13th.
I Have just received a letter which makes
me the most unhappy of mankind: 'tis
from a lady whose fortune is greatly above
my most sanguine hopes, and whose merit
and tenderness deserve that heart which I
feel is not in my power to give her. The
general complacency of my behaviour to
the lovely sex, and my having been accidentally
her partner at two or three balls,
has deceived her into an opinion that she is
beloved by me; and she imagines she is only
returning a passion, which her superiority
of fortune has prevented my declaring.
How much is she to be pitied! my heart
knows too well the pangs of disappointed
love, not to feel most tenderly for the sufferings
of another, without the additional
motive to compassion of being the undesigned
cause of those sufferings, the severest of
which human nature is capable. I am embarrassed
to the greatest degree, not what
resolution to take; that required not a moment's
deliberation; but how to soften the
stroke, and in what manner, without wounding
her delicacy, to decline an offer, which
she has not the least doubt of my accepting
with all the eager transport of timid love,
surprised by unexpected success.
I have wrote to her, and think I shall send
this answer; I enclose you a copy of it: her
letter is already destroyed: her name I conceal.
The honor of a lady is too sacred to
be trusted, even to the faithful breath of a
friend.