be so much as thought of as the object of any wicked body’s wishes.  I have called myself to account upon it, whether any levity in my looks, my dress, my appearance, could embolden such an offensive insolence.  And I have thought upon this occasion better of Julius Caesar’s delicacy than I did, when I read of it; who, upon an attempt made on his wife, to which, however, it does not appear she gave the least encouragement, said to those who pleaded for her against the divorce he was resolved upon, that the wife of Caesar ought not to be suspected.—­Indeed, Madam,” continued I, “it would extremely shock me, but to know that any wicked heart had conceived a design upon me; upon me, give me leave to repeat, whose only glory and merit is, that I have had the grace to withstand the greatest of trials and temptations, from a gentleman more worthy to be beloved, both for person and mind, than any man in England.”

“Your observation, my dear, is truly delicate, and such as becomes your mind and character.  And I really think, if any lady in the world is secure from vile attempts, it must be you; not only from your story, so well known, and the love you bear to your man, and his merit to you, but from the prudence, and natural dignity, I will say, of your behaviour, which, though easy and cheerful, is what would strike dead the hope of any presumptuous libertine the moment he sees you.”

“How can I enough,” returned I, and kissed her hand, “acknowledge your ladyship’s polite goodness in this compliment?  But, my lady, you see by the very instance I have mentioned, that a liberty is taken, which I cannot think of without pain.”

“I am pleased with your delicacy, my dear, as I said before.  You can never err, whilst thus watchful over your conduct:  and I own you have the more reason for it, as you have married a mere Julius Caesar, an open-eyed rake” (that was her word), “who would, on the least surmise, though ever so causeless on your part, have all his passions up in arms, in fear of liberties being offered like those he has not scrupled to take.”—­“O but, Madam,” said I, “he has given me great satisfaction in one point; for you must think I should not love him as I ought, if I had not a concern for his future happiness, as well as for his present; and that is, he has assured me, that in all the liberties he has taken, he never attempted a married lady, but always abhorred the thought of so great an evil.”—­“’Tis pity,” said her ladyship, “that a man who could conquer his passions so far, could not subdue them entirely.  This shews it was in his own power to do so; and increases his crime:  and what a wretch is he, who scrupling, under pretence of conscience or honour, to attempt ladies within the pale, boggles not to ruin a poor creature without; although he knows, he thereby, most probably, for ever deprived her of that protection, by preventing her marriage, which even among such rakes as himself, is deemed, he owns, inviolable; and so casts the poor creature headlong into the jaws of perdition.”