Are you really in earnest, Miss Warley?

Really, Edmund.

Then, for heaven’s sake, go to France.—­But how can you tell, madam, he never intends to make proposals?

On which I related what passed at table, the day Lord Allen dined at the Abbey.—­Nothing could equal his astonishment; yet would he fain have persuaded me that I did not understand him;—­call’d it misapprehension, and I know not what.

He will offer you his hand, Miss Warley; he certainly will.—­I’ve known him from a school-boy;—­I’m acquainted with every turn of his mind;—­I know his very looks;—­I have observ’d them when they have been directed to you:—­he will, I repeat,—­he will offer you his hand.

No!  Edmund:—­but if he did, his overtures should be disregarded.

Say not so, Miss Warley; for God’s sake, say not so again;—­it kills me to think you hate Lord Darcey.

I speak to you, Edmund, as a friend, as a brother:—­never let what has pass’d escape your lips.

If I do, madam, what must I deserve?—­To be shut out from your confidence is a punishment only fit for such a breach of trust.—­But, for heaven’s sake, do not hate Lord Darcey.

Mr. Jenkings appeared at this juncture, and look’d displeas’d.—­How strangely are we given to mistakes!—­I betray’d the same confusion, as if I had been really carrying on a clandestine affair with his son.—­In a very angry tone he said, I thought, Edmund, you was to assist me, knowing how much I had on my hands, before Lord Darcey sets out;—­but I find business is not your pursuit:—­I believe I must consent to your going into the army, after all.—­On which he button’d up his coat, and went towards the Abbey, leaving me quite thunderstruck.  Poor Edmund was as much chagrined as myself.—­A moment after I saw Mr. Jenkings returning with a countenance very different,—­and taking me apart from his son, said, I cannot forgive myself, my dear young Lady;—­can you forgive me for the rudeness I have just committed?—­I am an old man, Miss Warley;—­I have many things to perplex me;—­I should not,—­I know I should not, have spoke so sharply to Edmund, when you had honour’d him with your company.

I made him easy by my answer; and since I have not seen a cloud on his brow.—­I shall never think more, with concern, of Mr. Jenkings’s suspicions.—­Your Ladyship’s last letter,—­oh! how sweetly tender! tells me he has motives to which I am a stranger.

We spent a charming day, last Monday, at Lord Allen’s.  Most of the neighbouring families were met there, to commemorate the happy festival.—­Mr. Morgan made one of the party, and return’d with us to the Abbey, where he proposes waiting the arrival of his godson, Mr. Powis.—­If I have any penetration, most of his fortune will center there,—­For my part, I am not a little proud of stealing into his good graces:—­I don’t know for what, but Lady Powis tells me, I am one of his first favourites; he has presented me a pretty little grey horse, beautifully caparison’d; and hopes he says, to make me a good horsewoman.