P.S. Examine all I have said, and what I am going to add, relative to
myself, with severity. Mine is a state of mind in which the jealous
rigour of friendship appears to be essentially necessary. I have been
seized with I know not what apprehensions, by some hints which she has
two or three times lately repeated, concerning the brother of her dear
and worthy friend, Louisa; who, it seems, is to give us the meeting at
Paris. Is it not ominous? At least the manner in which she introduced
the subject, and spoke of him, as well as the replies of Sir Arthur,
were all of evil augury. Yet, why torment myself with imaginary
terrors? Should the brother resemble the friend--! Well! What if he
should? Would it grieve me to find another man of virtue and genius,
because it is possible my personal interest might be affected by the
discovery? No. My mind has still strength sufficient to reject, nay to
contemn, so unworthy a thought. But he may be something very different!
Love her he must: all who behold her love! The few words she has
occasionally dropped, have led me to suspect 'more was meant than met
the ear.' Whenever this chord is touched, my heart instantly becomes
tremulous; and with sensibility so painful as fully to lay open its
weakness; against which I must carefully and resolutely guard. It is
these incongruous these jarring tokens that engender doubt, and
suspense, almost insupportable.