I was silent.  Ah, Lucy! had Lady D——­ been the mother of Sir Charles Grandison, with what pleasure could I have listened to her!

You said, my dear, that Sir Charles Grandison will soon leave England:  —­and then you sighed—­Will you be quite open-hearted?—­May I ask you a question in hope that you will?

I was silent:  yet the word Yes was on my lips.

You have caused it to be told me, that your affections are engaged.  This has been a cruel blow upon us.  My lord, nevertheless, has heard so much of you, [he is really a good young man, my dear,] that (against my advice, I own,) he would have me introduce him into your company.  I see by his looks, that he could admire you above all women.  He never was in love:  I should be sorry if he were disappointed in his first love.  I hope his promised prudence will be his guard, if there be no prospect of his succeeding with you—­She paused—­I was still silent—­

It will be a mark of your frankness of heart, my dear, if, when you take my full meaning, you prevent me speaking more than I need.—­I would not oppress you, my sweet love—­Such a delicacy, and such a frankness mingled, have I never seen in young woman—­But tell me, my dear, has Sir Charles Grandison made his addresses to you?

It was a grievous question for me to answer—­But why was it so, my Lucy, when all the hopes I ever had, proceeded from my own presumption, confirmed (that’s true, of late!) by his sisters partiality in my favour; and when his unhappy Clementina has such a preferable claim?

What says Miss Byron?

She says, madam, that she reveres Lady D——­, and will answer any questions that she puts to her, however affecting—­Sir Charles Grandison has not.

Once I thought, proceeded she, that I never would make a second motion, were the woman a princess, who had confessed a prior love, or even liking:  but the man is Sir Charles Grandison, whom all women must esteem; and the woman is Miss Byron, whom all men must love.  Let me ask you, my dear—­Have you any expectation, that the first of men (I will call him so) and the loveliest and most amiable-minded of women, can come together?—­You sighed, you know, when you mentioned, that Sir Charles was soon to leave England; and you own that he has not made addresses to you —­Don’t be uneasy, my love!—­We women, in these tender cases, see into each other’s hearts from small openings—­Look upon me as your mother—­ What say you, love?

Your ladyship compliments me with delicacy and frankness—­It is too hard a question, if I have any of the first, to answer without blushes.  A young woman to be supposed to have an esteem for a man, who has made no declarations, and whose behaviour to her is such only as shews a politeness to which he is accustomed, and only the same kind of tenderness as he shews to his sisters;—­and whom sometimes he calls sister—­as if—­Ah, madam, how can one answer?