Well, Sir, the women may believe what they please.  That I have given countenance to what you told them is my error.  The many circumstances which you own one untruth has drawn you in to relate, is a justification of my refusal in the present case.

Don’t you see, Madam, that your uncle wishes to find that we are married?  May not the ceremony be privately over, before his mediation can take place?

Urge this point no further, Mr. Lovelace.  If you will not tell the truth, I will to-morrow morning (if I see Captain Tomlinson) tell it myself.  Indeed I will.

Will you, Madam, consent that things pass as before with the people below?  This mediation of Tomlinson may come to nothing.  Your brother’s schemes may be pursued; the rather, that now he will know (perhaps from your uncle) that you are not under a legal protection.—­You will, at least, consent that things pass here as before?—­

To permit this, is to go on in an error, Mr. Lovelace.  But as the occasion for so doing (if there can be in your opinion an occasion that will warrant an untruth) will, as I presume, soon be over, I shall the less dispute that point with you.  But a new error I will not be guilty of, if I can avoid it.

Can I, do you think, Madam, have any dishonourable view in the step I supposed you would not scruple to take towards a reconciliation with your own family?  Not for my own sake, you know, did I wish you to take it; for what is it to me, if I am never reconciled to your family?  I want no favours from them.

I hope, Mr. Lovelace, there is no occasion, in our present not disagreeable situation, to answer such a question.  And let me say, that I shall think my prospects still more agreeable, if, to-morrow morning you will not only own the very truth, but give my uncle’s friend such an account of the steps you have taken, and are taking, as may keep up my uncle’s favourable intentions towards me.  This you may do under what restrictions of secrecy you please.  Captain Tomlinson is a prudent man; a promoter of family-peace, you find; and, I dare say, may be made a friend.

I saw there was no help.  I saw that the inflexible Harlowe spirit was all up in her.—­A little witch!—­A little—­Forgive me, Love, for calling her names!  And so I said, with an air, We have had too many misunderstandings, Madam, for me to wish for new ones:  I will obey you without reserve.  Had I not thought I should have obliged you by the other method, (especially as the ceremony might have been over before any thing could have operated from your uncle’s intentions, and of consequence no untruth persisted in,) I would not have proposed it.  But think not, my beloved creature, that you shall enjoy, without condition, this triumph over my judgment.

And then, clasping my arms about her, I gave her averted cheek (her charming lip designed) a fervent kiss.—­And your forgiveness of this sweet freedom [bowing] is that condition.