University of Virginia Library

September 12.—

Ah, my sister! my friend! What shall I do? Oh that officious lady Grimston—What ill star drove me to her house? Nothing would serve her but she must know what Mr. Arnold said to me in the drawing-room

conference; and how I had behaved. She made her inquiry before my mother and the dean, after I had left them in the garden. What could the man do? He had no reason to conceal what passed, and frankly owned he had made me an offer of his heart. Well, and how did miss receive it, asked lady Grimston? With that modesty and polite sweetness that she does every thing, answered Mr. Arnold. He could say no less, you know.

He thence took occasion to apply particularly to my mother, apologizing at the same time for his not having done it before. What the self-sufficient creature added, I know not; for my mother, from whom I had this account, did not repeat all he said; but it seems it was enough to make her imagine I had not heard him reluctantly, and accordingly she gave him her permission to win me and wear me.

I could cry for very vexation to be made such a puppet of. This eclaircissement I dreaded before I had time to explain myself to my mother. The best of

women, still anticipating what I had to say, congratulated me on my extraordinary prudence, in not letting a childish, misplaced attachment keep such a hold on my heart, as to make me blind to the merits of a more deserving object.

Dear madam, said I, sure Mr. Arnold did not say, that I had encouraged his addresses. Encouraged, my dear! why sure the hearing, from a young lady of your education, is encouragement enough to a man of sense.—I heard him with complaisance, madam, because I thought that due to him; but I had not time to tell him, that it was my wish to remain single, at least for some time. My mother look surprized. "Sidney, this is not what I expected from you; I flattered myself you thought no longer of Mr. Faulkland."

She contracted her brow a little. Madam, I do not; indeed I think no more of him; but may I not be permitted to continue as I am?

Had you never had any engagement with Mr. Faulkland, answered my mother,

I should be far from urging you on this occasion; but, circumstanced as you now are, I think your honour is concerned.

Lady Grimston has put your affair in such a light to me, as I never considered it in before. How mortifying must the reflection be, my dear, to think that it may be said Mr. Faulkland perhaps flew off, from some disadvantageous circumstance he discovered in regard to you. The world wants not envious malicious tongues enough to give it this turn. Your unlucky illness, and your brothers ill-timed assiduity in going so often to him when he was at Richmond, looks as if we had been endeavouring to recal him. Every body knows the marriage was almost concluded; and lady Grimston, though she thinks our reasons for breaking it off were extremely cogent, yet as she knows the world well, thinks it has not virtue enough to believe those to be the true reasons, and that it will be much more apt to put an invidious construction on the affair, that may be very detrimental to you in your future prospects. These

considerations alone ought to determine you; but there is one still of greater moment, which I hope, from the goodness of your heart, will have still greater weight with you. That unfortunate young lady, who ought to be the wife of Mr. Faulkland if you were once put beyond the reach even of his most distant hope, would stand the better chance for having justice done to her; at least it would leave him void of that pretence which he at first pleaded, and which probably he will continue to do, while you remain single. Think seriously of the matter, my love. I shall only add, that Mr. Arnold is every way an unexceptionable match, and that your acceptance of him will be extremely agreeable to me; as, ont he contrary, your refusal will give an uneasiness to your indulgent mother, which she never yet experienced from you.

She left me with these cruel words; cruel in their kindness—Oh! she knows I am flexible by nature, and to her will yielding as air. What can I do? My

heart is not in a disposition to love—Yet, again and again I repeat it, Mr. Faulkland has no interest there. What he once had he has lost; but I cannot compel it to like and unlike, and like anew at pleasure. Fain would I bring myself chearfully to conform to my mother's will, for I have no will of my own. I never knew what it was to have one, and never shall, I believe; for I am sure I will not contend with a husband.

I have told Mrs. Vere what my mother said to me; she is intirely of her mind; every body is combined against me; I am treated like a baby, that knows not what is fit for it to choose or to reject.