“’Tis my temper, my dear—­You know I mean nothing.  You should not mind it.”

“I should not, Sir, if I had been used to it.”

He looked at me with sternness, “Do you doubt my honour, Madam?”

“Madam! I did you say.  Sir?—­I won’t take that word!—­Dear Sir, call it back—­I won’t be called Madam!—­Call me your girl, your rustic, your Pamela—­call me any thing but Madam!”

“My charmer, then, my life, my soul:  will any of those do?” and saluted me:  “but whatever you do, let me not see that you have any doubts of my honour to you.”

“The very mention of the word, dear Sir, is a security to me; I want no other; I cannot doubt:  but if you speak short to me, how shall I bear that?”

He withdrew, speaking nothing of the contents of his letter; as I dare say he would, had the subject been such as he chose to mention to me.

We being alone, after supper, I took the liberty to ask him, who was of his party to Oxford?  He named the Viscountess—–­, and her lord, Mr. Howard, and his daughter, Mr. Herbert and his lady:  “And I had a partner too, my dear, to represent you.”

“I am much obliged to the lady, Sir, be she who she would.”

“Why, my dear, you are so engaged in your nursery!  Then this was a sudden thing; as you know I told you.”

“Nay, Sir, as long as it was agreeable to you, I had nothing to do, but to be pleased with it.”

He watched my eyes, and the turn of my countenance—­“You look, Pamela, as if you’d be glad to return the lady thanks in person.  Shall I engage her to visit you?  She longs to see you.”

“Sir—­Sir,” hesitated I, “as you please—­I can’t—­I can’t be displeased—­”

“Displeased?” interrupted he:  “why that word? and why that hesitation in your answer?  You speak very volubly, my dear, when you’re not moved.”

“Dear Sir,” said I, almost as quick as he was, “why should I be moved?  What occasion is there for it?  I hope you have a better opinion of me than—­”

“Than what, Pamela?—­What would you say?  I know you are a little jealous rogue, I know you are.”

“But, dear Sir, why do you impute jealousy to me on this score?—­What a creature must I be, if you could not be abroad with a lady, but I must be jealous of you?—­No, Sir, I have reason to rely upon your honour; and I do rely upon it; and——­”

“And what?  Why, my dear, you are giving me assurances, as if you thought the case required it!”

“Ah!” thought I, “so it does, I see too plainly, or apprehend I do; but I durst not say so, nor give him any hint about my informant; though now confirmed of the truth of what Mr. Turner had said.”

Yet I resolved, if possible, not to alter my conduct.  But my frequent weepings, when by myself, could not be hid as I wished; my eyes not keeping my heart’s counsel.

And this gives occasion to some of the stern words which I have mentioned above.