`Clinton has spoken disrespectfully of you. You best
know whether you have merited it. My notion of the
man is, that he is a dissolute, unthinking fellow—a tyrant
in temper—changeable as the wind—and utterly
unworthy of your love. I have told him so. I have
told him that I would inform you of it. But I did not
tell him—as I do you, that there are noble qualities in
his nature—that, much of his profligacy is, of manner,
rather than heart; that I believe he may be, in time,
worthy of the unutterable happiness that—no matter,
Lucia—I only pray that you will be firm; such men
are only to be taught wisdom by their suffering. Make
him suffer—be firm—they value nothing, but in proportion
to the difficulty of attainment.—Would you
win him?—Beware how you let him see his power over
you. Would you keep him?—Set a guard upon your
very pulse—thought—and eyes. Would you charm
away the licentious spirit of his nature?—banish the
evil one that abides in his heart, and settle him down
into a hero?—for that he may be, if you deal aright with
him—I would not hurt your innocent heart, Lucia, you
know that I would not—be wary—unyielding---prepared—and
let him having nothing to boast of, in any event
—something to hope for—whatever may happen. You
understand me—I know your noble, unthinking, pure
and lofty confidence—but he is not the man for such
confidence—not
yet, I mean;—what he may be, must depend
upon you.'
