Sid. The subject is disagreeable;—but, since I must speak,—I do not think she is.
Eger. [a start of friendly rapture.] I know you do not; and I am sure you never will advise the match.
Sid. I never did. I never will.
Eger. [With a start of joy.] You make me happy,—which I assure you I never could be with your judgment against me in this point.
Sid. And yet, Charles, give me leave to observe, that Lady Rodolpha, with all her ridiculous and laughing vanity, has a goodness of heart, and a kind of vivacity that not only entertains,—but upon seeing her two or three times, she improves upon you; and when her torrent of spirits abates, and she condescends to converse gravely—you really like her.
Eger. Why ay! she is sprightly, good humoured, and, though whimsical, and often too high in her colouring of characters, and in the trifling business of the idle world,—yet I think she has principles, and a good heart,—[with a glow of conjugal tenderness.] but in a partner for life, Sidney, (you know your own precept, and your own judgment)—affection, capricious in its nature, must have something even in the external manners,—nay in the very mode, not only of beauty, but of virtue itself— which both heart and judgment must approve, or our happiness in that delicate point cannot be lasting.
Sid. I grant it.
Eger. And that mode,—that amiable essential I never can meet—but in Constantia. You sigh.
Sid. No. I only wish that Constantia had a fortune equal to yours. But pray, Charles, suppose I had been so indiscreet as to have agreed to marry you to Constantia—would she have consented, think you?
Eger. That I cannot say positively,—but I suppose so.