M. Let me be judge of both—­Parents are only to live for their children, let them deserve it or not.  That’s their dutiful notion!

D. Heaven forbid that I should wish, if there be two interests between my mother and me, that my mother postpone her own for mine!—­or give up any thing that would add to the real comforts of her life to oblige me!—­ Tell me, my dear Mamma, if you think the closing with this proposal will?

M. I say, that ten thousand pounds is such an acquisition to one’s family, that the offer of it deserves a civil return.

D. Not the offer, Madam:  the chance only!—­if indeed you have a view to an increase of family, the money may provide—­

M. You can’t keep within tolerable bounds!—­That saucy fleer I cannot away with—­

D. Dearest, dearest Madam, forgive me; but old soul ran in my head again!—­Nay, indeed, and upon my word, I will not be robbed of that charming smile!  And again I kissed her hand.

M. Away, bold creature!  Nothing can be so provoking as to be made to smile when one would choose, and ought, to be angry.

D. But, dear Madam, if it be to be, I presume you won’t think of it before next winter.

M. What now would the pert one be at?

D. Because he only proposes to entertain you with pretty stories of foreign nations in a winter’s evening.—­Dearest, dearest Madam, let me have all the reading of his letter through.  I will forgive him all he says about me.

M. It may be a very difficult thing, perhaps, for a man of the best sense to write a love-letter that may not be cavilled at.

D. That’s because lovers in their letters hit not the medium.  They either write too much nonsense, or too little.  But do you call this odd soul’s letter [no more will I call him old soul, if I can help it] a love-letter?

M. Well, well, I see you are averse to this matter.  I am not to be your mother; you will live single, if I marry.  I had a mind to see if generosity govern you in your views.  I shall pursue my own inclinations; and if they should happen to be suitable to yours, pray let me for the future be better rewarded by you than hitherto I have been.

And away she flung, without staying for a reply.—­Vexed, I dare say, that I did not better approve of the proposal—­were it only that the merit of denying might have been all her own, and to lay the stronger obligation upon her saucy daughter.

She wrote such a widow-like refusal when she went from me, as might not exclude hope in any other wooer; whatever it may do in Mr. Tony Harlowe.

It will be my part, to take care to beat her off the visit she half-promises to make him (as you will see in her answer) upon condition that he will withdraw his suit.  For who knows what effect the old bachelor’s exotics [far-fetched and dear-bought you know is a proverb] might otherwise have upon a woman’s mind, wanting nothing but unnecessaries, gewgaws, and fineries, and offered such as are not easily to be met with, or purchased?