I was standing with him this morning near the brow of the hill, leaning against a tree in the sunshine, and looking down the precipice below, when I said something of the lover’s leap, and in play, as you will suppose, made a step forwards:  we had been talking of indifferent things, his air was till then indolence itself; but on this little motion of mine, though there was not the least danger, he with the utmost seeming eagerness catched hold of me as if alarmed at the very idea, and with the most passionate air protested his life depended on mine, and that he would not live an hour after me.  I looked at him with astonishment, not being able to comprehend the meaning of this sudden flight, when turning my head, I saw a gentleman and lady close behind us, whom he had observed though I had not.  They were retiring:  “Pray approach, my dear Madam,” said I; “we have no secrets, this declaration was intended for you to hear; we were talking of the weather before you came.”

He affected to smile, though I saw he was mortified; but as his smile shewed the finest teeth imaginable I forgave him:  he is really very handsome, and ’tis pity he has this foolish quality of preferring the shadow to the substance.

I shall, however, desire him to flirt elsewhere, as this badinage, however innocent, may hurt my character, and give pain to my little Fitzgerald:  I believe I begin to love this fellow, because I begin to be delicate on the subject of flirtations, and feel my spirit of coquetry decline every day.

29th.

Mrs. Clayton has wrote, my dear; and has at last condescended to allow Emily the honor of being her daughter-in-law, in consideration of her son’s happiness, and of engagements entered into with her own consent; though she very prudently observes, that what was a proper match for Captain Clayton is by no means so for Sir George; and talks something of an offer of a citizen’s daughter with fifty thousand pounds, and the promise of an Irish title.  She has, however, observed that indiscreet engagements are better broke than kept.

Sir George has shewn the letter, a very indelicate one in my opinion, to my father and me; and has talked a great deal of nonsense on the subject.  He wants to shew it to Emily, and I advise him to it, because I know the effect it will have.  I see plainly he wishes to make a great merit of keeping his engagement, if he does keep it:  he hinted a little fear of breaking her heart; and I am convinced, if he thought she could survive his infidelity, all his tenderness and constancy would cede to filial duty and a coronet.

Eleven o’clock.

After much deliberation, Sir George has determined to write to Emily, inclose his mother’s letter, and call in the afternoon to enjoy the triumph of his generosity in keeping his engagement, when it is in his power to do so much better:  ’tis a pretty plan, and I encourage him in it; my father, who wishes the match, shrugs his shoulders, and frowns at me; but the little man is fixed as fate in his resolve, and is writing at this moment in my father’s apartment.  I long to see his letter; I dare say it will be a curiosity:  ’tis short, however, for he is coming out of the room already.