At first, I saw something in your air and person that displeased me
not. Your birth and fortunes were no small advantages to you.—You acted
not ignobly by my passionate brother. Every body said you were brave:
every body said you were generous: a brave man, I thought, could not be
a base man: a generous man, could not, I believed, be ungenerous, where
he acknowledged obligation. Thus prepossessed, all the rest that my
soul loved and wished for in your reformation I hoped!—I knew not, but
by report, any flagrant instances of your vileness. You seemed frank,
as well as generous: frankness and generosity ever attracted me:
whoever kept up those appearances, I judged of their hearts by my own;
and whatever qualities I wished to find in them, I was ready to find;
and, when found, I believed them to be natives of the soil.
My fortunes, my rank, my character, I thought a further security. I was
in none of those respects unworthy of being the niece of Lord M. and of
his two noble sisters.—Your vows, your imprecations—But, Oh! you have
barbarously and basely conspired against that honour, which you ought
to have protected: and now you have made me—What is it of vile that you
have not made me?—
Yet, God knows my heart, I had no culpable inclinations!—I honoured
virtue!—I hated vice!—But I knew not, that you were vice itself!