“Well, Pamela,” said he, a little seriously, “what say the worthy pair?”

“O Sir! they declare for you.  They say, it is best for me to yield up this point.”

“They are certainly in the right—­But were you not a dear perverse creature, to give me all this trouble about your saucy scruples?”

“Nay, Sir, don’t call them so,” said I, little thinking he was displeased with me.  “I still am somewhat wavering; though they advise me to acquiesce; and, as it is your will, and you have determined, it is my duty to yield up the point.”

“But do you yield it up cheerfully, my dear?”

“I do, Sir; and will never more dispute it, let what will happen.  And I beg pardon for having so often entered into this subject with you.  But you know, Sir, if one’s weakness of mind gives one scruples, one should not yield implicitly, till they are satisfied; for that would look as if one gave not you the obedience of a free mind.”

“You are very obliging, just now, my dear; but I can tell you, you had made me half serious; yet I would not shew it, in compliment to your present condition; for I did not expect that you would have thought any appeal necessary, though to your parents, in a point that I was determined upon, as you must see, every time we talked of it.”

This struck me all in a heap.  I looked down to the ground:  having no courage to look up to his face, for fear I should behold his aspect as mortifying to me as his words.  But he took both my hands, and drew me kindly to him, and saluted me, “Excuse me, my dearest love:  I am not angry with you.  Why starts this precious pearl?” and kissed my cheek:  “speak to me, Pamela!”

“I will, Sir—­I will—­as soon as I can:”  for this being my first check, so seriously given, my heart was full.  But as I knew he would be angry, and think me obstinate, if I did not speak, I said, full of concern, “I wish, Sir—­I wish—­you had been pleased to spare me a little longer, for the same kind, very kind, consideration.”

“But is it not better, my dear, to tell you I was a little out of humour with you, than that I am?—­But you were very earnest with me on this point more than once; and you put me upon a hated, because ungenerous, necessity of pleading my prerogative, as I call it; yet this would not do, but you appealed against me in the point I was determined upon, for reasons altogether in your favour:  and if this was not like my Pamela, excuse me, that I could not help being a little unlike myself.”

“Ah!” thought I, “this is not so very unlike your dear self, were I to give the least shadow of an occasion; for it is of a piece with your lessons formerly.”

“I am sure,” said I, “I was not in the least aware, that I had offended.  But I was too little circumspect.  I had been used to your goodness for so long a time, that I expected it, it seems; and thought I was sure of your favourable construction.”