“So,” sometimes I say to myself, “the girl may love Mr. Adams.”—­“Ay,” but then I answer, “so she did Mr. H. and on his own very bad terms too.”—­In short—­but I won’t be too censorious neither.

So I’ll say no more, than that I was perplexed; and yet should be very glad to have Polly well married; for, since that time, I have always had some diffidences about her—­Because, you know, Miss—­her fault was so enormous, and, as I have said, so premeditated.  I wanted you to advise with.—­But this was the method I took.—­I appointed Mr. Adams to drink a dish of tea with me.  Polly attended, as usual; for I can’t say I love men attendants in these womanly offices.  A tea-kettle in a man’s hand, that would, if there was no better employment for him, be fitter to hold a plough, or handle a flail, or a scythe, has such a look with it!—­This is like my low breeding, some would say, perhaps,—­but I cannot call things polite, that I think unseemly; and, moreover.  Lady Davers keeps me in countenance in this my notion; and who doubts her politeness?

Well, but Polly attended, as I said; and there were strange simperings, and bowing, and curt’sying, between them; the honest gentleman seeming not to know how to let his mistress wait upon him; while she behaved with as much respect and officiousness, as if she could not do too much for him.

“Very well,” thought I, “I have such an opinion of your veracity, Mr. Adams, that I dare say you have not mentioned the matter to Polly; but between her officiousness, and your mutual simperings and complaisance, I see you have found a language between you, that is full as significant as plain English words.  Polly,” thought I, “sees no difficulty in this text; nor need you, Mr. Adams, have much trouble to make her understand you, when you come to expound upon this subject.”

I was forced, in short, to put on a statelier and more reserved appearance than usual, to make them avoid acts of complaisance for one another, that might not be proper to be shewn before me, for one who sat as my companion, to my servant.

When she withdrew, the modest gentleman hemmed, and looked on one side, and turned to the right and left, as if his seat was uneasy to him, and, I saw, knew not how to speak; so I began in mere compassion to him, and said—­“Mr. Adams, I have been thinking of what you mentioned to me, as to Polly Barlow.”

“Hem! hem!” said he; and pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped his mouth—­“Very well.  Madam; I hope no offence, Madam!”

“No, Sir, none at all.  But I am at a loss how to distinguish in this case; whether it may not be from a motive of too humble gratitude, that you don’t think yourself above matching with Polly, as you may suppose her a favourite of mine; or whether it be your value for her person and qualities, that makes her more agreeable in your eyes, than any other person would be.”

“Madam—­Madam,” said the bashful gentleman, hesitatingly—­“I do—­I must needs say—­I can’t but own—­that—­Mrs. Mary—­is a person-whom I think very agreeable; and no less modest and virtuous.”