Yet still he determined to persist.--While I was no man's else, he must
hope.
What! said I, will you still persist, when I declare, as I do now, that
my affections are engaged?--And let my brother make the most of it.
He knew my principles, and adored me for them. He doubted not, that it
was in his power to make me happy: and he was sure I would not want the
will to be so.
I assured him, that were I to be carried to my uncle's, it should answer
no end; for I would never see him; nor receive a line from him; nor hear
a word in his favour, whoever were the person who should mention him to
me.
He was sorry for it. He must be miserable, were I to hold in that mind.
But he doubted not, that I might be induced by my father and uncles to
change it--
Never, never, he might depend upon it.
It was richly worth his patience, and the trial.
At my expense?--At the price of all my happiness, Sir?
He hoped I should be induced to think otherwise.
And then would he have run into his fortune, his settlements, his
affection--vowing, that never man loved a woman with so sincere a
passion as he loved me.
I stopped him, as to the first part of his speech: and to the second,
of the sincerity of his passion, What then, Sir, said I, is your love to
one, who must assure you, that never young creature looked upon man with
a more sincere disapprobation, than I look upon you? And tell me,
what argument can you urge, that this true declaration answers not
before-hand?