To Miss Fermor.
Yes, my dear Bell, you know me better than I know myself; your Emily
loves.--But tell me, and with that clear sincerity which is the
cement of our friendship; has not your own heart discovered to you the
secret of mine? do you not also love this most amiable of mankind? Yes,
you do, and I am lost: it is not in woman to see him without love;
there are a thousand charms in his conversation, in his look, nay in
the very sound of his voice, to which it is impossible for a soul like
yours to be insensible.
I have observed you a thousand times listening to him with that air
of softness and complacency--Believe me, my dear, I am not angry with
you for loving him; he is formed to charm the heart of woman: I have
not the least right to complain of you; you knew nothing of my passion
for him; you even regarded me almost as the wife of another. But tell
me, though my heart dies within me at the question, is your tenderness
mutual? does he love you? I have observed a coldness in his manner
lately, which now alarms me.--My heart is torn in pieces. Must I
receive this wound from the two persons on earth most dear to me?
Indeed, my dear, this is more than your Emily can bear. Tell me only
whether you love: I will not ask more.--Is there on earth a man who
can please where he appears?