He was going on:  anger from his eyes flashed upon his cheek-bones, and made them shine.  My lady’s eyes struck fire at Sir Harry, and shewed that she was not afraid of him.

Better intended, than done, interrupted I, since my lady tells me, that it was the occasion of a misunderstanding—­But, sir, all will be right:  my lady assures me, that you are not disinclined to comply with the contents; and she has the goodness—­

Pray, Sir Charles, interrupted the lady—­

To give me hopes that she—­

Pray, Sir Charles—­

Will use her interest to confirm you in your favourable sentiments—­

Sir Harry cleared up at once—­May I hope, madam—­And offered to take her hand.

She withdrew it with an air.  O Dr. Bartlett, I must have been thought an unpolite husband, had she been my wife!

I took her hand.  Excuse this freedom, Sir Harry—­For Heaven’s sake, madam, (whispering,) do what I know you will do, with a grace—­Shall there be a misunderstanding, and the husband court a refused hand?—­I then forced her half-unwilling hand into his, with an air that I intended should have both freedom and respect in it.

What a man have we got here, Sir Harry?  This cannot be the modest man, that you have praised to me—­I thought a good man must of necessity be bashful, if not sheepish:  and here your visitor is the boldest man in England.

The righteous, Lady Beauchamp, said Sir Harry, with an aspect but half-conceding, is bold as a lion.

And must I be compelled thus, and by such a man, to forgive you, Sir Harry?—­Indeed you were very unkind.

And you, Lady Beauchamp, were very cruel.

I did not think, sir, when I laid my fortune at your feet—­

O, Lady Beauchamp!  You said cutting things!  Very cutting things.

And did not you, Sir Harry, say, it should be so?—­So very peremptorily!

Not, madam, till you, as peremptorily—­

A little recrimination, thought I, there must be, to keep each in countenance on their past folly.

Ah, Sir Charles!—­You may rejoice that you are not married, said Sir
Harry.

Dear Sir Harry, said I, we must bear with ladies.  They are meek good creatures—­They—­

Meek!  Sir Charles, repeated Sir Harry, with a half-angry smile, and shrugging, as if his shoulder had been hurt with his wife’s meekness—­ say, meek!

Now, Sir Charles Grandison, said my lady, with an air of threatening—­

I was desirous either of turning the lady’s displeasure into a jest, or of diverting it from the first object, in order to make her play with it, till she had lost it.

Women are of gentle natures, pursued I; and, being accustomed to be humoured, opposition sits not easy upon them.  Are they not kind to us, Sir Harry, when they allow of our superiority, by expecting us to bear with their pretty perversenesses?