“You cannot, madam, encourage my addresses!” He stood silent a minute or two, looking upon me as if he said, “Foolish girl!  Knows she whom she refuses?” “I have been assured, madam, that your affections are not engaged.  But surely, it must be a mistake; some happy man——­”

“Is it,” I interrupted, “a necessary consequence that the woman who cannot receive the addresses of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen must be engaged?”

“Why, madam, as to that, I know not what to say, but a man of my fortune——­” He paused.  “What, madam, can be your objection?  Be so good as to name it, that I may know whether I can be so happy as to get over it.”

“We do not, we cannot, all like the same person.  There is something that attracts or disgusts us.”

“Disgusts! Madam—­disgusts!  Miss Byron!”

“I spoke in general, sir; I dare say, nineteen women out of twenty would think themselves favoured in the addresses of Sir Hargrave Pollexfen.”

“But you, madam, are the twentieth that I must love; and be so good as to let me know——­”

“Pray, sir, ask me not a reason for a peculiarity.  You may have more merit, perhaps, than the man I may happen to approve of better; but—­shall I say?—­you do not—­you do not hit my fancy, sir.”

“Not hit your fancy, madam!  Give me leave to say” (and he reddened with anger) “that my fortune, my descent, and my ardent affection for you ought to avail with me.  Perhaps, madam, you think me too airy a man.  You have doubts of my sincerity.  You question my honour.”

“That, sir, would be to injure myself,” and making a low courtesy, I withdrew in haste.

My sheet is ended.  With a new one I will begin another letter.

V.—­Miss Byron:  In Continuation

Next morning, after breakfast, Sir Hargrave again called, and renewed his addresses, making vehement professions of love, and offering me large settlements.  To all of which I answered as before; and when he insisted upon my reasons for refusing him, I frankly told him that I had not the opinion of his morals that I must have of those of the man to whom I gave my hand in marriage.

“Of my morals, madam!” (and his colour went and came).  “My morals, madam!” He arose from his seat and walked about the room muttering.  “You have no opinion of my morals?  By heaven, madam!  But I will bear it all—­yet, ‘No opinion of my morals!’ I cannot bear that.”

He then clenched his fist, and held it up to his head; and, snatching up his hat, bowed to the ground, his face crimsoned over, and he withdrew.

Mr. Reeves attended him to the door.  “Not like my morals!” said he.  “I have enemies, Mr. Reeves.  Miss Byron treats politely everybody but me, sir.  Her scorn may be repaid—­would to God I could say, with scorn, Mr. Reeves!  Adieu!”

And into his chariot he stept, pulling up the glasses with violence; and rearing up his head to the top of it, as he sat swelling.  And away it drove.