And even, if you please, in sincere compliment to your opinion, and to that of Mr. Hickman, that (over-persuaded by his friends, and ashamed of his unmerited baseness to me) he would in earnest marry me, if I would have him.

’Well, and now, what is the result of all?—­It is this—­that I must abide by what I have already declared—­and that is, [don’t be angry at me, my best friend,] that I have much more pleasure in thinking of death, than of such a husband.  In short, as I declared in my last, that I cannot [forgive me, if I say, I will not] ever be his.

* Those parts of this letter which are marked with an inverted comma [thus ’ ] were afterwards transcribed by Miss Howe in Letter LV. written to the Ladies of Mr. Lovelace’s family; and are thus distinguished to avoid the necessity of repeating them in that letter.

’But you will expect my reasons; I know you will:  and if I give them not, will conclude me either obstinate, or implacable, or both:  and those would be sad imputations, if just, to be laid to the charge of a person who thinks and talks of dying.  And yet, to say that resentment and disappointment have no part in my determination, would be saying a thing hardly to be credited.  For I own I have resentment, strong resentment, but not unreasonable ones, as you will be convinced, if already you are not so, when you know all my story—­if ever you do know it—­for I begin to fear (so many things more necessary to be thought of than either this man, or my own vindication, have I to do) that I shall not have time to compass what I have intended, and, in a manner, promised you.*

* See Vol.  VI.  Letter LXXIII.

’I have one reason to give in support of my resolution, that, I believe, yourself will allow of:  but having owned that I have resentments, I will begin with those considerations in which anger and disappointment have too great a share; in hopes that, having once disburdened my mind upon paper, and to my Anna Howe, of those corroding uneasy passions, I shall prevent them for ever from returning to my heart, and to have their place supplied by better, milder, and more agreeable ones.

’My pride, then, my dearest friend, although a great deal mortified, is not sufficiently mortified, if it be necessary for me to submit to make that man my choice, whose actions are, and ought to be, my abhorrence!—­ What!—­Shall I, who have been treated with such premeditated and perfidious barbarity, as is painful to be thought of, and cannot, with modesty be described, think of taking the violator to my heart?  Can I vow duty to one so wicked, and hazard my salvation by joining myself to so great a profligate, now I know him to be so?  Do you think your Clarissa Harlowe so lost, so sunk, at least, as that she could, for the sake of patching up, in the world’s eye, a broken reputation, meanly appear indebted to the generosity, or perhaps compassion, of a man, who has, by means so inhuman, robbed her of it?  Indeed, my dear, I should not think my penitence for the rash step I took, any thing better than a specious delusion, if I had not got above the least wish to have Mr. Lovelace for my husband.